Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing
by Syl
Summary: A vampire killer with particular tastes terrorizes Bludhaven, but is someone pulling the strings?
1. Part 1

Summary: A vampire killer with particular tastes terrorizes Bludhaven, but is someone pulling the strings?

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. 

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

[Monday 2200hrs EST]

****

"Do you understand your instructions?"

MacElvany jumped, sloshing the hot coffee on his lap. Overcompensating, he lost his grip on the delicate cup and saucer that he'd been clumsily holding. He watched, horrified, as the priceless pieces fell and shattered on impact. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for the inevitable tongue-lashing.

When none was forthcoming, MacElvany timidly looked up into his employer's cold, green eyes, which glared balefully from underneath dark, shadowed eyelids. MacElvany's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. He returned his boss's stare--a cornered mouse waiting for the cat to pounce. 

Usually, his boss exuded charm. This wasn't one of those times. 

MacElvany was under no illusion as to his place in the world. Lady Luck had inexplicably smiled on him the day his boss made him his 'special services' assistant. But Lady Luck had a darker side, that of a she-cobra, quick to strike and twice as venomous. 

Like his boss's charm. MacElvany swallowed, his trembling mouth opening to speak.

"Forget it, Mac," his boss said curtly. "It'll come out of your pay." MacElvany nodded, eagerly. "But should you fail your mission...well, I needn't remind you that payment will be much higher?"

MacElvany quickly shook his head. He again opened his mouth to speak and again was cut off.

"You have your orders." The boss's green eyes crossed the luxurious cabin, and came to rest on a tall, blonde woman who stood guard at the cabin door. Another time and place, she would've been at home riding astride a wild-eyed stallion, brandishing sword and shield, and shouting the battle cries of the Valkyries.

"Mercy?" 

"The shuttle is ready, sir." 

He nodded, and ignoring MacElvany, he turned to papers waiting on his worktable.

MacElvany knew that he'd been dismissed and unbuckled his seatbelt. Standing, he shakily walked to the back of the cabin. He hated flying.

Minutes later, the cabin's sole remaining occupant received a call over his private line.

"Shuttle's clear, Mr. President."

The President's hard, green eyes softened momentarily into a small smile of satisfaction. Reaching for a pen, he signed the papers before him with a confident flourish: Lex Luthor. 

****

Bludhaven: an alley off of Bowline Street

[Thursday 0230hrs EST]

****

"Vampire."

The word sent a chill down Nightwing's spine. Call him old-fashioned, but the young vigilante preferred dead people to stay dead.

He'd met a couple of the deadly creatures a few months back, and they'd almost had him for dinner. The episode tended to give him chills and nightmares. Therefore, he liked to forget about it.

The crumpled form carelessly tossed in the filthy alley told Nightwing that he wouldn't be able to. At least, not just yet.

"Are you sure?" Oracle asked.

"Neck broken. Two puncture wounds on the neck," Nightwing muttered. He leaned in for a closer inspection and noted the surrounding bite marks. "Vampire, all right."

"I'll contact Angel Investigations," Oracle said. "Let 'em know that there's been a confirmed vampire kill in Bludhaven."

While Nightwing listened to Oracle, he'd been scrutinizing the body for further evidence. The victim was a young man in his early to mid twenties. Blond, blue-eyed. The body still felt warm.

"Babs?" Nightwing spoke quietly, unsure of what he'd just discovered. 

"Ummm...?" Oracle sounded distracted, like she always did when concentrating completely on a task. Nightwing could almost see her with a pencil between her teeth, typing away at her keyboard, while attempting to monitor over a dozen communications stations.

"You could also tell them that the victim doesn't have that distinctly 'drained' look of other vampire kills. I mean, the guy's dead, but his blood doesn't seem to have been entirely drained from the body." 

"What do you think that means?" Oracle asked, curiously.

"Maybe nothing," Nightwing said, shrugging. Standing, he added, "Maybe everything."

****

Los Angeles: Angel Investigations 

[Thursday 0245hrs EST//Wednesday 2345hrs PST//]

****

Cordelia Chase threw the Batman Beanie Baby into the cardboard box. She sighed, taking one last look around. That was it. She was done with her packing--**_and_** with this place! And this time for good! 

Fini! Ciao! Hasta la vista, baby!

With a toss of her head, she started for the door.

"Fire **_me_**?" she fumed. "I'll show **_him_**! I quit! Let's see him find some other girl who gets psychic flashes and works for what he's willing to pay--!"

The phone ringing stopped her. She automatically turned to answer it, when she remembered she'd just been fired. No, she amended silently. She'd just quit! 

"Let the answering machine pick up!" she said defiantly. With a 'humph,' Cordelia headed towards the door again. The ringing continued.

She stopped.

_What if it's something important?_ she asked herself.

The ringing seemed insistent. 

Cordelia looked at the phone, annoyed. Why wasn't the answering machine picking up?

"Because Angel or Wesley probably disconnected it--**_again_**!" she muttered.

Men! Why didn't they stick to things they understood--like opening jars or parallel parking? 

Taking an exasperated breath, she hurried back and picked up.

"Angel Investigations!" she said cheerily. "We help the helpless! How may we help **_you_** today?"

"This is Oracle," a cold, disembodied voice answered. "I have a message from Nightwing."

"Nightwing?" Cordelia instantly perked up. "How **_is_** my favorite, Dark Squire?"

"...!" The silence on the other end bespoke volumes.

Cordelia stared at the handset and then rolled her eyes. "Duh! Don't get all jealous on me, girlfriend. Nightwing's not my type."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The cold inflection remained, but the voice sounded slightly defensive. "And what makes you think I'm a woman?"

"Oh, please! I'm 'Psychic-Girl,' remember?" Cordelia retorted. Checking her watch, she saw that it was almost midnight. She was running late. "But never mind all that. You've got less than two minutes to give me your message. I've got a plane to catch."

However, before the disembodied voice on the other end could relate the information, Cordelia screamed as her head exploded with images of blood and terror.

****

Place/Date/Time: Unknown

****

Cordelia's eyes snapped open. She was standing in a darkened alley. It smelled of urine and of rotting, decaying things. Dead things.

She scrunched her nose at this. 

Where was she, she wondered? She looked around. The place was a total wreck--dumpsters overturned, their rancid contents spilling out onto the sidewalk and empty street beyond.

A weathered sign painted on the side of the building identified it as "The Shady Lady Topless Gentlemen's Lounge." Cordelia made a face.

~"Ewww...! Topless gentlemen! Gag me!"~ Then shrugging added, ~"Oh, well. To each his own."~

The alley looked like a recent fight had broken out there and then been abandoned. Knowing that she was in the middle of one of her infrequent dream visions, Cordelia decided that it was best to let it play itself out. 

She started taking slow, measured steps across the filthy alleyway.  Each footstep made a crunching sound as she stepped on shattered glass. Mindful of the noisome garbage that littered the concrete walk, she inched her way carefully, determined to avoid squishy, dead things.

Finally, she came to the end of the alley and felt a cold chill slowly creep up her spine.

Nothing. Just reeking odors.

~"Why does it always have to smell? And why does it always have to be dark?"~ she complained. ~"Why can't any of these vision-thingies ever be bright and nice?"~ 

Not for the first time Cordelia cursed her deceased friend, Doyle, for shouldering her with this unwanted psychic 'gift.'

~"Some gift...why couldn't you leave me your dorky CD collection instead?"~ Cordelia waved her arms for added emphasis as she vented her annoyance. Sighing at the vagaries of fate, she turned and headed back towards the alley entrance.

A sudden sound caught her attention. It was coming from behind one of the overturned dumpsters. Picking her way across the garbage strewn alley, Cordelia reached the dumpster, and without hesitating, took a peek behind it.

A young man cowered in the corner like a frightened animal. As soon as she appeared, his face registered terror.

"Don't hurt me, please!"

Cordelia stopped and looked around her and behind. ~"Who's he talking to?"~ she wondered. Facing him, she asked him the same question. 

~"Hey, guy...who are you talking to?"~

She noticed appreciatively that he was a stunningly handsome young man. Blond and blue-eyed. And even though he was cowering in the corner, she could tell that he was at least six feet tall and built like a linebacker.

He started to cry, a weak whimper at first, but quickly gaining in volume.

"NO! Please!" he cried. 

To Cordelia's amazement, she saw herself easily lift the dumpster and casually toss it aside. Then, walking up to him, she reached out and with one finger placed delicately underneath his chin, raised him to his full height.

~"Okay, this is too weird!"~ Cordelia said. But even as she spoke, she **_heard_** someone else--herself, but not her--talking to the gorgeous blond.

"Oh, don't be such a wimp, Bobby. I promise it won't take long!" She paused, giggling. "At least, I don't think it will. You're only the first I've ever tried to 'turn.'"

Cordelia saw a pair of hands (Not hers, she realized!) caress the young man's handsome face. She saw slender fingers delicately run through his hair, and across his broad chest.

Resisting at first, the young man began to respond, almost in a trance. Finally, he stood still, his eyes closed, waiting. 

The feminine hands were placed on either side of his face, and ever so tenderly, Cordelia felt her need and desire rising with each touch of his hot skin.

~"No!"~ she denied. ~"That's **_not_** me! It's someone else. It's **_her_** need! Oh, yuck! Don't--!"~

Cordelia watched as the unseen woman pulled the young man down to her. Cringing, Cordelia **_felt_** her as she lovingly bit into her victim's neck, and ran her tongue appreciatively across the newly opened wound, tasting the salty tanginess of his blood.

~"Vampire."~ Cordelia's realization was matter-of-fact. She was seeing the attack through the eyes of the vampire.

"Mmmm..." she heard herself say. "If I'd known you'd taste this delicious and be this easy, I'd've tried to turn you days ago..." 

She drank, carefully and slowly, ensuring that she didn't take it all. Turning him to face her, she then kissed him fully, allowing him to run his tongue in her mouth, tasting his own life's blood.

"Just think of it," she whispered. "You'll have me as your consort for all eternity. So you see, it's not really dying. It's 'becoming'..."

He looked down on her, the blood from the two puncture wounds on his neck running down in twin streams. His eyes blinked momentarily and lost their previously unfocused look, as if he were coming out of a trance.

He stared at her for a long moment, confused. Finally, running his tongue across his lips, he again tasted the fresh blood and smiled.

"Now it's your turn," Cordelia heard herself saying. Nodding, he eagerly reached for her. Cordelia could feel his hot breath on her neck. This made her already considerably fast-beating heart go up another notch. She again felt herself reacting, as if she were someone else.

"Yes..." she hissed. "Taste me. Drink of me. Become one with me..."

Cordelia felt herself floating in a sea of bliss. She was on a cloud, not tied to the conventions of gravity.

When suddenly she felt a knifelike pain shoot from her neck, instantly bringing her back to earth with a resounding crash. She glared at her willing victim who was now lying in a heap, looking up at her, startled.

"What was **_that_** for?" he whined. She'd just picked him up and flung him bodily halfway across the alley. He'd crashed against the dumpster.

"You **_bit_** me!" Cordelia screamed. 

"But--? I thought I was **_supposed_** to bite you!"

"It hurt!" Cordelia heard herself protesting. "It's not **_supposed_** to hurt. Spike never said anything about it **_hurting_**!" She walked up to him and grabbed him by the lapels. "You did something wrong. On purpose!"

"No!" he insisted, terrified. "How could I? I've never done anything like this before!"

"Oh, don't give me that! You probably planned this, didn't you?" she accused. "You're part of that stupid Scooby Gang! She's here, isn't she? The Slayer! You're working for her!"

"N0--URK!"

The young man tried to deny any knowledge of what she was saying, but she'd already broken his neck. A rat suddenly scooted over her foot. She jumped, squealing in surprise.

"Why does being evil have to be so icky?" she cried, stamping her foot in annoyance. Realizing that she yet held the still form of her victim, she dumped him carelessly and walked away.

****

End of Part 1


	2. Part 2

Summary: Officer Grayson gives out traffic tickets; Wesley discovers Cordelia left; Lindsey resents his role as babysitter of--but that would be telling.

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. 

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Bludhaven: the corner of Bowline St. and Parkthorne Ave. 

[Thursday 0845hrs EST] 

****

Sgt. Amy Rohrback moved away from the gruesome murder scene, her head bent over a report. She crossed underneath the yellow police tape and came up against the horrific sight of the congested morning traffic. 

"What the Hell is going on?" she muttered. Where was her rookie partner, Officer Dick Grayson? He was supposed to be **_directing_** traffic away from the murder scene, not causing the largest traffic jam ever seen in the annals of Bludhaven.

She stormed through the maelstrom of bumper-to-bumper cars and honking horns. Shouted obscenities added to the discordant din in the crisp, winter morning. Finally, Amy spotted him, standing over a diverse group of people, writing what looked like a ticket. 

"Grayson!" she yelled, running towards him. "**_Grayson_**!" 

Dick looked up from his task, and spotting her, greeted her with what she privately thought of as one of his lady killer smiles. 

"Hi, Sarge!" he said. 

"Grayson, what are you doing? You're supposed to be directing traffic!" She waved her arm at the traffic mess behind her. "How the Hell did you let this--**_this_**--!" She waved again, unable to find an appropriate adjective. "--Happen!?"

Her young partner looked at the traffic jam as if noticing it for the first time. 

"Sorry about that Sarge," he said, apologetically. "But I had to stop for a coupla minutes to arrest these characters."

Amy looked down at the group of men, women, and teens that her young partner indicated. They were all cuffed and trussed up, ready for transportation. They immediately began to shout all at once, protesting their unfair treatment.

An elderly lady in particular shouted the loudest. Amy waved both her arms at them.

"Okay, okay!" she shouted over them. "One at a time!" She turned to Dick. "Talk fast, Grayson. And this better be good!"

Dick gave her an openly ingenuous look, the kind that either sent her pulse racing with impure thoughts or pushed her over the edge into apoplexy, depending on the situation. This was one of those apoplexy times.

"Well, Sarge, I was directing traffic like you told me to. When this guy here--" he pointed at one of the suspects. "--Stephen C. Coonts--honked his horn several times. Even after I warned him not to. That started a chain reaction of mischievous horn honking--"

"You. Arrested. These. People...For honking their **_HORNS_**!!??" Amy roared.

"Uh, n-no, Sarge. Coonts here, I arrested him for attempting to strike an officer of the law."

Amy's thunderous expression changed immediately. She turned to Coonts, her dark eyes twin daggers pinning him in place. 

"Is this true?" she asked quietly.

"**_He_** started it!" Coonts protested. He was met with a chorus of "Yeah's!" by the others.

Amy turned to Dick, her eyes ordering him to explain further.

"Well, I was going to give him a ticket for honking his horn. So I wrote him up, right?" At Amy's nod of understanding, he continued. "He tore it up!" Dick's expression reflected his shock at such behavior.

"So, I wrote him another one. This time, I added 'littering' to the citation. When I handed him the second ticket, well..." Dick paused, and catching her eye, nodded. "He tore that one up, too." He shrugged. "I asked him to step out of the car, and when he did, he took a swing at me."

"Why didn't you report this right away?" Amy asked.

"I was supposed to be directing traffic," Dick reminded her. "I figured that we could take him when our shift was over."

"Well, what about these other desperadoes?" Amy asked.

Dick pointed at the elderly lady. 

"Sadie Carey," he reported. "Same circumstances--she was honking her horn and wouldn't cease and desist, so I tried to give her a ticket, too."

"Don't tell me that **_she_** took a swing at you?" Amy asked. She gave the woman an assessing look. The woman 'harumphed' and threw her nose up in the air.

"Uh, no, Sarge," Dick said, laughing slightly. "She offered me a bribe--twenty bucks!"

Amy closed her eyes in long-suffering silence.

"Bribe!?" Sadie protested. "Since when is offering a payoff to a cop in Bludhaven considered against the law? An honest citizen can't get anything done in this city! I demand a lawyer!"

Afraid to ask anything further, Amy rolled her eyes upward and plunged in anyway. 

"And what about these others?" Although she didn't really want to hear the answer, her tone gave nothing away,

His voice light and breezy--as if arresting what passed for honest citizens in the corrupt city of Bludhaven was an everyday occurrence--rookie Officer Dick Grayson proceeded to fill his senior partner in on his morning's activities.

Amy felt a headache coming on. It was going to be a long day.

**** 

Bludhaven: 1013 Parkthorne Ave., Apt. 3A

[Thursday 1930hrs EST]

****

"So, Cordelia said she actually **_saw_** the murder?" Dick's voice was muffled by a large, fluffy towel that he was currently using to dry his hair. Another one was draped precariously around his hips. 

He'd been off-shift for less than hour and hoped to catch a few hours sleep before he hit the streets again. He was exhausted. In the past twenty-four hours, he'd had about two hours sleep because he'd been called in early to pull a double-shift.

The vampire murder was apparently having a 'circle the wagons' mentality on the Bludhaven PD brass. 

"Well, she said she had a sudden psychic flash, and that she saw what she thought was **_a_** murder," Barbara said. "Possibly the case you're working on, or a new victim."

"A new victim," he sighed. "That's the last thing I need."

Dick sat down on the edge of his bed and gave his hair one final, vigorous rub. A giggle from his computer center stopped him. Slowly looking out from under the towel, he glared across the room towards the closed-circuit video camera. A red blinking light indicated that it was activated.

"Ha. Ha. Can't a guy have some privacy around here?" he complained. He picked up a remote control unit and quickly turned off the camera.

Barbara's amused laughter rang through the apartment. 

"Party poop," she giggled.

"I bet you wouldn't like it if Bruce wired **_your_** place with secret spy cameras all over it!" he retorted.

A cold silence greeted his words.

"Don't go there, former Boy Wonder," Barbara warned. "I've still got issues with your mentor."

"Yeah, well, stand in line," Dick muttered. Both young people tacitly agreed not to talk about Dick's former guardian. Slipping into a BPD t-shirt and pair of sweats, Dick padded barefoot to his computer. Sitting in front of the monitor, he quickly pressed the 'on' button.

Barbara Gordon's lovely features greeted him across cyberspace.

"Hi, gorgeous," he said. Barbara gave him a warm smile. Realizing that they were staring at each other, both quickly looked away and started talking at the same time. Embarrassed, they stopped just as suddenly.

Dick cleared his throat and got down to business.

"So, did she say anything else?" he asked. Barbara nodded.

"She said that she was going to hop the first flight available to Bludhaven and see what she could do to help."

Dick grimaced. He wasn't thrilled about having Angel Investigations back in town. Fighting vampires with vampires just seemed unnatural, and said so. Barbara held his eyes steadily.

"I didn't say that **_Angel_** was coming. I said that **_Cordelia_** is coming--"

"What--? But what's the good of **_that_**? I'm talking **_vampire_** here, Babs! And where's there one, there's bound to be more. It's like that shampoo commercial. One vampire begets three. And those three each create three more. And so on. And so on. Pretty soon, I'll be up to my neck in vampires." He paused a beat. "No pun intended."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Barbara asked.

Dick rubbed his eyes, his thought processes fuzzy. He felt like he had Gummi Bears for brains at the moment. It was hard to think.

"I don't know, Babs. Let me sleep on it for a couple of hours, okay? Maybe I'll have a dream vision or something to help me out."

"You don't have dream visions," Barbara snorted.

"I dream about you, don't I?" Dick shot back. Grinning at the sudden crimson flush across her high cheekbones, he quickly reached over and turned off the monitor on Barbara's spluttering.

****

Bludhaven: Location unknown

[Thursday 2000hrs EST]

****

The brass lamp flew into the mirror, shattering it. Flung with a supernatural strength fueled by white-hot rage, the lamp impaled itself on the concrete wall upon impact.

The young man relaxing on the recliner, looked up from his paper, annoyed. "She has an arm like Nolan Ryan," he muttered.

That was the third mirror in the past week. He shook his head. His experience with vampires had long inured him to their dangers.

"It's not **_fair_**!" a beautiful, blonde woman screeched as she stomped into the living room. "How am I supposed to make myself gorgeous if I can't even **_see_** myself?"

She picked up an ashtray and threw it against the wall for added emphasis. The ashtray slammed into the concrete wall and instantly disintegrated into atoms. 

The young man rubbed his eyes and counted to ten. He'd been thinking about giving up smoking anyway. He glared at the attractive blonde who was currently ranting and raving. With few exceptions, he found vampires to be predicable and not a little stupid.

"How can I attract the best-looking guys in the clubs if I can't even put on my mascara?" she demanded.

The man put on his most patient face and wondered about the cosmic joke that saddled him with this Vampire Valley Girl. 

She definitely fell in the 'stupid' category, he groused. How did Chief Redhorne and that oddball, MacElvany, expect him to do what they'd hired him for, if he was given this dead flashlight battery as his primary recruiting tool?

He remembered the woman who'd been with Redhorne and MacElvany. She'd never uttered a word, yet the others appeared completely cowed by her. Single-plaited, long blonde hair with matching icy, blue-eyes--she'd been built like an Amazon. MacElvany addressed her as 'Miss Mercy'...

**** 

At mention of her name, 'Miss Mercy' glared contemptuously at the squat, loudly dressed underling. MacElvany swallowed nervously, loosening his collar, which suddenly seemed to be choking him.

"Uh--" MacElvany stuttered. "The a-agents have already been dispatched to LA, where they're supposed to be--what do you call it?--Possessed--?" He dared a glance at 'Miss Mercy.' The woman barely nodded her acknowledgement.

"Possessed--" MacElvany continued with growing confidence. "By a couple of--whatchacallit--**_stealth_** demons! It's all been arranged by--"

"--Wolfram and Hart," Lindsey interrupted. "I know that. I'm waiting for word from my business associate. She'll let me know when the agents are enroute here, to Bludhaven." 

'Miss Mercy' gave him an appraising look. Lindsey thought he detected the slightest touch of respect in her eyes, but it was instantly suppressed...

****

Lindsey shivered, smiling ruefully. Now **_she_** would've made a hell of a vampire.

He glanced at the booby-brained bimbo he'd been forced to work with instead. Why me, he grumbled? This should've been Lilah's gig, but the Big Boss insisted that the mission required Lindsey's personal finesse. Lilah probably had something to do with it, Lindsey thought. It had her fingerprints written all over it.

Giving himself a mental headshake, he stood up.

"Lindsey," the vampire pouted. "**_You_** think I'm beautiful, don't you? That old meanie, Spike, never really loved me. He was just using me." She started to whimper. "He only wanted to get close to the **_Slayer_**!" At this, she began wailing in earnest.

Lindsey McDonald walked up to her. She stood slightly hunched, the picture of dejection, her back to him. Hesitating momentarily, Lindsey took her in his arms.

"Hey, of course, you're beautiful," he said with warm reassurance. "You're a very beautiful woman, Harmony. I mean, even your name is beautiful."

Lindsey listened, almost gagging at his own words. However, his unconventional work with the law firm of Wolfram and Hart prepared him for just about anything. Lying with utmost sincerity came easily.

"Y-You really think so?" Harmony asked. At his nod, she visibly brightened. "My mother used to tell me that she named me 'Harmony' because she wanted me to help bring in world peace! I won't let you down, Lindsey. I'll get us a minion tonight--I promise!"

Lindsey smiled back. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

"I know you will, Harmony," he said softly in her ear. "And trust me, no man will be able to resist you tonight." His brotherly embrace grew in desire, and before he knew what he was doing, Lindsey found himself locked in a passionate kiss with her, his one remaining hand exploring the soft contours of the all-too willing vampire beauty...

****

Los Angeles: Angel Investigations

[Thursday 2348hrs EST//2048hrs PST//]

****

"Cordelia's gone."

Wesley's accusing tone broke through Angel's grim, brooding thoughts. He glanced at the desk clock--08:48 p.m. He didn't have time for this, he sighed. He needed to be out in the City of Angels, hunting its Denizens of the Dark. 

Knowing that Wesley would not be easily put off, Angel finally looked up from the shadowed recesses of his deserted business office. His eyes swept around the room again. He didn't need to turn on the overhead lights to know that all signs of Cordelia were missing. 

"I know," he said, his voice sounding tired. "She left last night. Emptied her desk--took all her stuff."

"You don't understand!" Wesley snapped, turning on the lights. Angel blinked rapidly, temporarily blinded. "Cordelia is **_really_** gone!" 

Angel stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I just came from her apartment. I went there to check on her." Wesley gave Angel a disgusted look. "**_Why_** did you have to use the 'F-word'?" he complained. 

Angel looked startled. "What? I **_never_**--!"

"'F-' as in 'fired'!" Wesley broke in. "You know how sensitive she is--especially after the **_last_** time you gave us the 'can.' Can't you manage your employees without resorting to firing us every other day?"

"Well, I--" Angel began.

"Cordelia **_is_** 'Vision-Girl' after all. I mean, it's not like you can just advertise for a psychic in a trade newspaper, you know."

"Well, actually, I **_can_**--"

"Dennis said she called for a taxi and--" 

"Dennis?" Angel asked.

"You know--Dennis Pearson!" At Angel's blank look, Wesley rolled his eyes. "As in Dennis the Friendly Ghost. Cordelia's poltergeist!"

Angel nodded in sudden understanding. Cordelia's apartment was 'haunted' by a non-malevolent poltergeist that acted as her protector. If anyone would know where she'd gone, it would be Dennis.  

They were interrupted by the phone's ring. Giving Angel a withering look, Wesley picked it up.

"Angel Investigations!" Wesley said sharply. "Although we can't seem to get along with each other, we'll try to help you as best we can before we self-destruct due to the sheer pig-headedness on the part of some people! Well? What do you want?"

"...?" 

"Look, whoever you are--you called **_us_**, remember?! Now, do you have a problem or not--?"

Angel yanked the phone from Wesley's hand. The usually dapper Englishman turned in outraged protest, but Angel just waved him off and turned his back on him.

"Angel Investigations," he said calmly. "How may we help you?" He stiffened, listening attentively. "Are you sure? Where were they spotted last?" 

He listened, and then nodded reluctantly. "Okay, we'll meet." Angel hung up and turned to Wesley.

"That was Gunn. A couple of feds investigating the mysterious disappearances of an unknown number of people were last seen on the trail of a couple of stealth demons."

Wesley drew in a sharp breath. Stealth demons inhabited the bodies of their victims, controlling all their mental and muscle control. While the stealth demon inhabited the host body, the victim lived. However, when the demon abandoned the body, he left an exit wound that invariably killed the host.

As such, the agents were already as good as dead. But now Wesley and Angel had to stop the demons before they found yet another host body.

"One more thing," Angel said, looking away. "The agents are from the Department of Meta-Human Affairs." 

Wesley stared at him a moment longer, slowly nodding. Why would President Luthor's newest cabinet level department be interested in a couple of stealth demons?

****

End of Part 2


	3. Part 3

Summary: Cordelia has another vision; there's another murder; and the BPD investigates.

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. 

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Bludhaven: The Haven Heights Motor Hotel, along Hwy. 61

[Friday 0130hrs EST]

****

"Not exactly the Ritz."

Cordelia's eyes snapped awake. She let out a slight gasp of fear, and just as quickly covered it up with bravado.

"I know karate!" she exclaimed. "My hands are registered with the Los Angeles police as deadly weapons."

"That's fascinating," a disembodied voice growled from the shadows. "Tell me more." A dark figure immerged into the dim glow cast by the newly risen moon.

Cordelia made a disgusted noise in her throat.

"Nightwing," she muttered, throwing off her covers and grabbing a bathrobe. "Y'know, some people actually **_knock_** before they enter a lady's room."

"Sorry. Where's Angel?" he asked, getting immediately down to business. Cordelia rolled her eyes and flipped on the light switch. 

"It's nice to see you, too, Nightwing," she returned. "And before you ask again, Angel isn't here."

Nightwing waited expectantly. Cordelia sighed in exasperation.

"And he's not coming, so don't bother getting all 'dark and brooding' on me," she added sharply. "God knows I get enough of that from Angel."

"Go home, then," Nightwing said. "I don't want you here. It's too dangerous."

"Hey, just a minute **_there_**, buster!" Cordelia stomped up to him and jammed her finger into his chest. "**_Oww_**!" She shook her hand at the sudden, sharp pain and inspected her fingernails closely. "Boy, you're lucky! I paid a small fortune for this manicure." 

Cocking her head sideways, she reached across and lightly touched Nightwing's winged emblem. Unmindful of the incongruity of her actions, Cordelia next knocked on his chest.

"What's this stuff made out of anyway?" she asked, momentarily distracted. "Armor plating?" 

Nonplussed by her bold behavior and ability to change a subject without warning, Nightwing was about to respond, when Cordelia started on him again with increased vehemence. 

"And I go where I **_want_** to go! And stay where I **_want_** to stay! And it's just too bad that this isn't the Ritz! I just lost my job!" She closed her eyes, and shaking her head in exasperation, quickly corrected herself. "Quit! I **_quit_** my job!"  

Nightwing opened his mouth, but Cordelia again overrode his protests.

"And it just so happens that I want to stay here!" she said angrily. "And **_you_**, Mister Superhero, have no say in the matter!"

"This is **_my_** town--!" he began, but she cut in, furious.

"This is a free country, buster, and I for one--!" She stopped, gasping at the sudden pain. She fell on Nightwing, grabbing him for support. 

"What **_is_** it?" he asked, his voice urgent.

"It's happening again!" she screamed, fighting him off, stumbling over the cheap motel furnishings. 

"Where?" Nightwing asked urgently, again reaching for her, but she waved him off. 

"The Moonlight Club!" she gasped. "Go!"

****

Bludhaven: The Moonlight Club

[Friday 0200hrs EST]

****

"I'm too late."

"I'm sorry, Dick. You did everything humanly possible." Oracle's quiet voice did little to soothe his inner turmoil.

"Thanks, Babs," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm not dealing with anything human."

Nightwing stood on the rooftop of the Moonlight Club overlooking the rear alley. The nightclub was in one of Bludhaven's tonier sections, Avalon Heights. The place was usually frequented by the city's well-heeled, upwardly mobile twenty- and thirty-somethings. 

He watched as uniformed police tried to hold back the news media. His mouth grimaced in disgust as journalists vied with each other for better positions.

"Sharks," he growled.

"If it bleeds, it leads." Oracle's voice dripped irony.

Nightwing zoomed in on plainclothes detectives and uniformed officers as they meticulously canvassed the area for clues and questioned potential witnesses. The BPD at least **_looked_** like they knew what they were doing, Nightwing thought cynically. There was little for him to do here.

About to turn away, he noticed a decided change in the crowd's attitude--a sense of anticipation. Eyes narrowing, he immediately saw the reason. An unmarked car, single blue light flashing, wended its way slowly through the throng of cameras, microphones, and flashbulbs. Uniformed officers cleared a wide berth for it, at times having to physically grab and remove an eager reporter who managed to break the thin blue line. 

A tall, distinguished African-American stepped out. Nightwing zoomed his Starlite scopes on the newcomer.

"Captain Phillip Addad," he said. "Chief of Homicide."

"And the only **_real_** cop in the BPD," Oracle added.

"Gee, thanks." 

"You're welcome," Oracle quipped. 

"Shhh--! I'm trying to listen here!" he growled. He smiled inwardly at Oracle's answering soft laughter. He increased the volume on his earpiece sound amplifier. Addad was speaking to one of his plainclothes detectives.

"What do you have, Jennings?" 

"Dead male, Captain," Jennings replied. He read from a small spiral notebook. "Ron Williams. Twenty-seven years old. Black hair. Brown eyes. Two puncture wounds to the neck, surrounded by definite bite marks. Looks like the same M.O. as the previous victim."

"Neck broken?" Addad asked.

Jennings shook his head. "Medical Examiner said no. This one doesn't have a broken neck."

"Blood drained?" 

"M.E. says most, but not all. Enough was left to register lividity--where the blood's settled, there's a definite purplish coloring." Jennings spoke in bored, flat tones. He might as well have been commenting on the cold weather they'd been having lately. 

Addad nodded and asked, "Time of death?" 

"Thirty minutes to an hour."  

"You mentioned bite marks," Addad said. "Have 'em run through Quantico. Maybe we can get a dental match."

"Gotcha, Cap'n," Jennings said, noting it in his spiral.

On the roof, Nightwing nodded in admiration. Of course, he'd already run a check of the lower jaw bite marks left on the previous victim, but he'd come up empty so far. Oracle was still running a check on the national dental database. 

_So far, no bites. Nightwing grinned at his own bad pun._

Jennings and Addad stood watching as a team from the Medical Examiner's office finished with the body, zipped him up inside a body bag, and readied him for transport. The M.E.'s van backed into the alley, and the body was loaded onto it.

"Any eyewitnesses?" Addad asked. 

Jennings nodded and waved a young, attractive couple over. "Thomas Reed and Stephanie Merrill. They're friends of the deceased. Met him here for drinks." 

Addad turned his attention to them. The girl was visibly upset and showed signs of recent crying. The young man held her comfortingly.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Addad began quietly. "Can you tell us anything? Anything at all?"

"We met for drinks," Thomas explained. "We work for the same company--MediTech--and we'd just finished brokering a major deal with LexCorp. We'd worked on it for several weeks, and when we finally got the other guys to sign on the dotted line, it was almost midnight. We agreed to meet here at the Moonlight for just a short celebration."

On the roof, Nightwing drew in a sharp breath. "LexCorp?" he muttered. "Think Luthor might have something to do with this?"

"You mean, **_President_** Luthor?" Oracle teased back. At his cold silence, she quickly added, "I'm on it, former Boy Wonder. Sheesh...take away the short pants and he loses his sense of humor. Hmm...maybe I'd better check the first victim's background--"

"Shhhh--!" Nightwing hissed sharply. "I can't hear Addad!" 

Oracle instantly cut her transmission in a huff. Nightwing closed his eyes momentarily in self-recrimination. It looked like he'd have to send flowers again. 

Still, Batman didn't trust the new President and neither did Nightwing, especially since Luthor tried to buy up Gotham City after the devastating earthquake that resulted in the city being turned into a No Man's Land. And while President Luthor's civic policies seemed humanitarian on the surface, Nightwing instinctively knew that there was something clandestine immediately underneath the President's smooth veneer.

No, Nightwing didn't trust his new President, but Luthor had been elected legally and fairly. There was little that either Nightwing or his former mentor could do about the situation.

Coming back to the present, Nightwing tried to remember what Barbara said about the first victim. Noticing that Addad was questioning the witnesses again, he turned his attention back to the conversation below.

"So what happened?" Addad was asking.

"We don't know," Stephanie said. "We ordered drinks, but before they arrived, Ron excused himself to the men's room. He never came back."

"Could he have left with someone?" Addad asked. "Met someone, maybe?"

Both Stephanie and Thomas vehemently shook their heads. "Ron wasn't like that, Captain," Stephanie insisted. "He was engaged to be married. I've **_never_** known him to cheat. He's not--he **_wasn't_**--that kind of guy."

Addad looked at Thomas for confirmation. Thomas gave an emphatic nod.

"What Steph's saying is true, Captain," he said. "I've known Ron for almost three years and in all that time, I've never known him to be anything but a real straight-shooter. He'd never cheat on his fiancee."

"Captain?" Jennings had another young woman and a large, muscular man in tow. 

On closer inspection, Addad could see that the woman was much older than she'd appeared at first glance. She was heavily made up, wearing stiletto heels, and--Addad's eyebrows shot up involuntarily--almost nothing underneath her heavy overcoat. Hooker, he concluded.

"Exotic dancer," she said, as if reading his thoughts. She glared at him, her chin held high. Addad gave her a slight smile and a silent nod of acknowledgement. He then looked over at the big bruiser who'd accompanied her.

"Bouncer," Jennings explained succinctly, nodding at the tattooed giant. 

Addad turned back to the woman. "What do have for us, Miss--?" 

"Bon-Bon," she said. "Sugar Bon-Bon." At his look of open disbelief, she quickly added, "It's on my driver's license."

Addad looked at Jennings. The detective nodded at the truth of her statement, his eyes filled with mirth.

"Sugar Bon-Bon," Jennings intoned dryly, reading from his ever-present spiral notebook. "The former Mildred Hortenspa Chudzik--"  

"Which is **_why_** I had my name changed!" she interrupted. "All legal-like!"

Addad rolled his eyes. Why did weird murders also have to come with weird eyewitnesses?

"Very well, Miss...um...Bon-Bon--"

"Oh, please! Call me, Sugar!" she insisted with a high giggle. Addad nodded and then started again.

"Very well, Sugar. What do you have for us?"

Immediately, Sugar's giddy expression changed. Her eyes became frightened. She looked visibly shaken.

"I-I ain't sure--" she said, hesitantly. "I was in the Lady's Room--Powdering my nose, y'know? When I bumped into...**_her_**!" The last word came out in a terrified whisper.

"Who?" Addad asked.

"I don't know. I ain't never seen her before. Believe me, I know **_all_** the regulars. But she was a new one. Well, I smiled and said, 'Hi! How are you? You new 'round here?'" Sugar paused, shivering inside her heavy coat.

"And--? What did she say?" Addad prompted, patiently.

"Nothing. She didn't **_say_** nothing!" Sugar looked like she wanted to run and hide. "But the look she gave me! She turned on me, like an animal almost. Her face--I've never **_seen_** anything like it in my whole life! And her teeth--l-like sharp fangs!" She stood, staring into space, her hand covering her mouth. The memory of what she'd seen keeping her frozen in place.

"What happened?" Addad asked. Sugar blinked rapidly, returning to the present.

"Another girl walked in at that moment. A really **_tall_** blonde. I'd never seen **_her_** before, either. She like got between me and monster-girl. The next thing I know, the monster-girl was gone! I turned to ask the other girl if she'd seen what I'd seen, but she was gone, too." Sugar shook her head in exasperation. 

"I was gonna report it, but who'd'a believed me? And what **_did_** I see? Maybe a girl wearing a mask, pretending to growl like an animal, and wearing fake teeth? Pulling a prank, y'know? Anyway, I'd'a been laughed outta the place." 

Sugar caught the others' stares and slowly turned to face Addad and Jennings.

"I guess you think I'm crazy, huh?" 

Addad took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, Sugar. I don't think you're crazy. I think you're very brave. Thank you."

Sugar gave him a beaming smile, but then the frightened look came back.

"What is it?" Addad asked immediately.

"Y-You promise you don't think I'm crazy?" she asked tremulously. Addad shook his head, reassuringly. Sugar swallowed a couple of times, looked around the alleyway entrance as if expecting the 'monster girl' to jump out any second, then finally turned back to Addad.

"I-I know that this is hard to believe...but--" she stopped. "You know how I said that I bumped into her?"

Addad nodded, his patience wearing thin.

"Well...the reason I bumped into her is because I didn't see her at first." The others looked at her oddly. "Don't you get it? I was powdering my nose--I mean **_really_** powdering my nose. The Lady's Room has a really nice large mirror with plenty of lights." The frightened look came back. "Captain--she wasn't in the mirror. I mean, her reflection--she didn't **_have_** one!"

Addad and Jennings exchanged unreadable looks. Turning back to Sugar, Addad asked, "Can you describe the other girl?"

"Yeah, like I said. Tall. At least six feet--maybe taller. Blonde--really long. Tied in a single braid. She was wearing dark glasses, so I couldn't see her eyes. Funny, it was almost midnight, and she was wearing dark glasses. Black leather--almost, you know, a dominatrix-type."

Addad and Jennings both nodded, noting the additional information she'd given them. 

Listening from the roof, Nightwing wondered if this second woman might be somehow involved. He made a rueful face. How many blonde, leather-wearing, six-foot tall, dominatrix-type women were running around Bludhaven anyway? He shrugged, concentrating on Addad's continuing interrogation of the witnesses.

The Homicide detective had just turned to the bouncer. "And your name?"

"Larry Talbot," the bouncer said. "But my friends all call me Wolfman. Get it?" he asked eagerly. "Larry Talbot--the Wolfman? Like in the old movies. With Lon Chaney, Jr."

Addad sighed inwardly. Jennings looked down quickly and pretended to be writing something in his notebook. 

"I get it, Mr. Talbot. What do you have for us?" Addad asked.

"I saw the guy leave the club a little after one with a dame. He wasn't a regular, but I've seen him before, at least a couple of times, with a pretty redhead--"

"Jenny," Stephanie said. At Addad's look, she explained, "Ron's fiancee is a redhead." 

"Go on, Mr. Talbot," Addad said.

"Anyway, this time I saw him arrive alone. It was a little before one. A few minutes later, he was joined by these two!" Talbot pointed at Stephanie and Thomas with his chin. "Then not ten minutes later, I saw him leaving with a blonde. A real looker. Never seen her before, though."

"Can you describe her?" 

"Young. Early twenties maybe. Blonde, like I said. About five-eight or so. They looked real lovey-dovey, if you know what I mean?" He looked expectantly at the homicide captain. 

"Are you sure it was the victim?" Addad pressed. Talbot nodded with firm assurance. Addad looked at the victim's friends. They looked at each other and then back at him. Stephanie shook her head sadly.

"What'll we tell Jenny?" she asked no one in particular. No one said anything.

Finally looking back at the clearly terrified eyewitnesses, Addad again spoke reassuringly with them for a few more minutes, and then left them to Jennings. 

The homicide captain slowly walked through the dark shadows of the rear alley, stopping in the center. He was alone.

Looking up at the opposite rooftop, he spoke. "I know you're here. Why don't you come down and talk to me?"

"I'm here."

Addad jumped at the low voice immediately behind him. He whirled around, reaching for his police special in his overcoat. And stopped, disgusted with himself.

"I guess now I know how Commissioner Gordon feels," he muttered. He glared at the young vigilante who stood, leaning against the outer wall of the Moonlight Club, a wide smirk stamped on his handsome features.

****

End of Part 3


	4. Part 4

Summary: The Host of the Caritas Club offers Angel and his friends a cryptic message; Cordelia offers Nightwing a short lesson in 'vampire-ology'; and Amy offers Dick 'motherly' advice.

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. 

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Los Angeles: the Caritas Club 

[Friday 0250hrs EST//Thursday 2350hrs PST//]

****

The doorkeeper demon checked their Ids, carefully studying their faces and comparing them to their driver's licenses. Satisfied, the massive demon passed them through. As soon as they entered, the strained, off-key sounds of "Secret Love" assaulted their ears.

Wesley looked onstage and grimaced at the seven-foot tall demon that was demolishing the old Doris Day standard. He noticed a pus-like fluid oozing from several skin lesions on the creature's face and neck and gagged suddenly, his stomach lurching.

Turning his head away, Wesley clenched his eyes in disgust. The complete lack of talent amongst the demons who frequented the place never ceased to amaze the dapper demon hunter. Spotting an empty table, he urged his friends to follow him. As they made their way through the crowded nightclub, Wesley couldn't help but wonder at the overall friendly atmosphere that permeated the place.

He looked around. Within seconds, he spotted a variety of dangerous creatures that outside the safety confines of the Caritas wouldn't hesitate to dismember him. An Ebla demon was sitting drinking quietly in a corner table. A Morha and a Gath demon were indulging in a friendly discussion over beers on who had the better powers. 

And--Wesley stopped doing a double take--was that a Haksaal Beast downing one Bloody Mary after another? Emphasis on the **_blood_**--type unknown! Wesley didn't wait to find out. He hurried after his friends, who'd continued without him. 

And all the while "Secret Love" kept jarring his nerves.

_"I've got a secret love--!" the off-key crooning jangled in the background._

While the Caritas Nightclub was a safe haven for demons, humans and vampires alike--with an ironclad rule against fighting, killing, or bloodsucking on the premises--Wesley felt that someone should definitely kill Pus-Guy, who was building to a big finish.

_"Now, I shout it from the highest hills--!"  _

And soon. For the betterment of all. 

_"Even told the golden daffodils--!"_

"I can't believe he's heard that song before, much less that he's singing it," Wesley commented. "Quite badly, I might add."

_"My secret love's no secret anymore." _

"At last! The agony is finally over," Wesley mumbled thankfully when the last notes died out. 

"What? Don't you like 'Secret Love'?" Angel asked. "Doris Day's a demon favorite. You should hear them when they break into 'Que Sera, Sera.'" 

Wesley and Gunn exchanged glances. Gunn mouthed, 'Doris Day?' Wesley shrugged. Some things were just too scary to talk about. 

"Gentlemen!"

Wesley and the others turned at the sound of the new voice--the Host. 

As he approached them, the Host worked the crowd. A tall, slender demon with green-toned skin, red eyes, red horns and a ready smile for all who entered his domain, the flamboyant demon was greeted by his admiring guests with waves and smiles from all corners of the room. A few even called out the titles of well-known songs.

"How about 'The Pina Colada Song'?" That came from the Morha demon.

"No, give us some Manilow!" A young-looking vampire couple asked, raising their Bloody Mary's in silent salute.

"'Eleanor Rigby'!" Yet another mysterious patron requested. "Let's hear some Lennon and McCartney!"

The Host smiled and acknowledged each request with a smooth graciousness that promised them everything, but guaranteed nothing. The throngs loved him.  

Wesley rolled his eyes. While most of the Caritas Club's regulars frequented the Karaoke Bar to receive a 'soul reading' from the Host, an Anagogic Demon, whose specialty was seeing into the souls of his guests, Wesley knew that there were quite a few who came to hear their demon host belt out the old standards. 

Wesley shook his head in wry bemusement. _Only in LA, he noted. _

"So what brings the latter day Three Musketeers to my place tonight?" The Host asked, looking around them as if searching. "And where's the lovely Seer, our charming Miss Chase?" 

The three demon hunters each glanced away at the Host's question. His eyes narrowed in sudden realization. "I see. It is the Seer whom you seek. Not my insight."

Angel shook his head. "No, Cordelia's out of town. We're here on another matter."

The Host held Angel's eyes a moment longer, assessing his words and meaning. "You look for another," he said. "And yet...it's the Seer whom you seek." He spoke so softly that the others almost didn't catch his words. 

Wesley stepped forward.

"I-I don't understand," he said. "Is Cordelia in some kind of trouble?" 

"Don't you know?" the Host asked blandly. At Wesley's shake of the head, the demon host turned away. "Then perhaps you should find out, don't you think?"

"Look, man," Gunn began belligerently. "If you know something about Cordelia, maybe you should just spill it!"

"I just did," the Host returned calmly. Angel finally spoke up.

"We're looking for a couple of stealth demons," he explained, low voiced. "Gunn's contacts tell him that these demons might be inhabiting a couple of federal agents. The agents questioned a lot of nightcrawlers earlier this evening. They seemed really anxious to find the demons."

"Yeah," Gunn interrupted. "My homeboys tried to talk 'em out of doing something stupid, but they're feds, y'know? Think they can shove everybody around--even demons. Last my boys saw, the guys in black were headed toward the demons' last known lair." He shrugged. "I checked the place out. Nothing."

The Host nodded. He'd been listening attentively to Gunn's account, but he didn't offer any information.

Impatiently, Angel prodded him. "Well? Have you seen anyone who might fit their description?"

"A couple of men in black were here earlier," the Host conceded. "I invited them to sing, but they turned me down cold." He shivered, remembering their icy stares. "Brrrr...! Stealth demons could freeze a fire demon with their chilly eyes."

"Yeah, and the exit wounds they leave behind aren't any fun, either," Wesley muttered. The three demon hunters exchanged knowing looks. Apparently, the federal agents had already 'found' their stealth demons and been possessed as feared.

"Do you know where they were going?" Angel asked. 

The Host nodded reflectively. Giving the others a warm smile, he answered, "Wolfram and Hart. Where else?"

****

Bludhaven: The Haven Heights Motor Hotel, along Hwy. 61

[Friday 0305hrs EST]

****

"Oh-oohh..." Cordelia groaned, holding a cold compress to her forehead. "There's gotta be an easier way."

"I was too late."

Cordelia gave a short squeal, and then glared at her visitor. "At least a vampire has the courtesy to wait to be invited before barging into a person's home!"

"Sorry," Nightwing said, hitching his hip on the cheap motel dresser. He didn't sound sorry.

Cordelia lay back, closing her eyes. "What happened?" she asked, holding the cold compress firmly against her forehead.

Nightwing filled her in as best he could.

Cordelia lay still, not answering. After a moment, Nightwing assumed she'd fallen asleep and was about to head out the window, when her quiet, matter-of-fact voice stopped him.

"She's trying to sire new ones." 

Nightwing whirled around. Cordelia was looking up at him, her green eyes steady. 

"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing the answer before he uttered the question.

"This vampire--whoever she is--is trying to sire new ones. Probably looking for followers," she added, half to herself.

"How do you know that?" Nightwing asked. He sat down next to her on the couch.

"The whole blood-sharing thingie--it's a ritual of sorts. An icky, vampire-creating ritual." Cordelia grimaced in obvious disgust. 

"Go on," he said.

Closing her eyes again, Cordelia nodded and explained. 

"Not every vampire victim becomes a vampire. Most don't--they're just so much meat on the hoof. But sometimes--" She stopped, looking at Nightwing to see if he was following her. At his nod, she continued.

"Anyway, this whole 'turning' ritual is tricky. Kinda like the Three Bears' porridge."

Nightwing stared at her in mild irritation. "Think you could be a **_little_** less cryptic?" 

Cordelia shrugged. "You know--the Three Bears: 'Too hot. Too cold. Just right?"

Nightwing's look told her he still wasn't following her. "Do you think that you could pretend your studio audience here--me--knows little or less about vampires?

She closed her eyes, sighing in exasperation.

"If you take too much blood--the 'intended' dies. Don't take enough--the victim lives. Take just the right amount--the transference works. Of course, there's this whole gross, blood-sharing part to it, too." She didn't elaborate and Nightwing didn't ask.

"Oh, and usually by the following sundown the new vampire awakes," she added almost absentmindedly.

Nightwing went still. "You're telling me that in less than fifteen hours, I'm going to have a **_second_** vampire to contend with?"

Cordelia nodded wearily. "Do you know where they took him?"

"What?" Nightwing sounded distracted.

"The body? Do you know where they took the body?"

"City morgue. Why?"

"Duh--!" Cordelia said sharply, eyes flashing. "You've gotta make sure he **_doesn't_** wake up!" At his look of incomprehension, she shot off with rapid-fire precision several preferred methods of disposing of the vampire-to-be. 

"Drive a stake through his heart! Cut his head off. Or, um, I know! **_Cremation_**! Yeah! That's the preferred method of disposal."

At Nightwing's look of distaste, Cordelia added with irritation. "Nightwing, he's already dead, remember? You'll be doing his soul a favor. Otherwise, he'll rise at sundown and his soul will be doomed for all eternity."

****

Bludhaven: City Morgue

[Friday 0430hrs EST]

****

"Hmmm...Ronald H. Williams, you say?" The bored attendant didn't bother looking up from his porn magazine. He continued flipping the pages. "Gone."

"Gone?! But he was just **_brought_** here! There hasn't even been time for an autopsy, yet!"

The attendant deliberately stopped turning the pages of his magazine, clasped both hands and laid them on top of Miss February. He looked up slowly, stopping momentarily at the nametag--Grayson--and continuing on.

The young police officer was giving him a dark, angry look. His attitude screamed, 'Rookie!'

"Look, Officer Grayson. You're probably new here and haven't learned how we run things here in the 'Haven. But when a family member claims the body--" He reached inside his lab coat and pulled out a thick roll of bills. "--the City is only too happy to comply in order to help the newly bereaved get through their time of sorrow."

"Oh?" Dick asked, his tone ironic. "Tell me--" He picked up the attendant's nameplate from his desk. "--Lopez. For just how much was the City 'only too happy' to turn the body over to the newly bereaved?" He leaned over, grinning in seeming complicity.

Lopez returned Dick's grin.

"Five big ones, my boy. Of course, I'd've done it for nothing if the dearly departed's **_sister_** had been willing to--" he stopped, his openly lecherous expression finishing his statement for him.

Dick, feeling a little sick inside, returned his grin. "Look, Lopez...this really puts me in a spot, man. My sergeant wanted me to check something for him on the body--for his report, y'know?"

Lopez nodded.

"Did the sister leave an address--say to a funeral home? Anything where I could maybe track 'em down?"

Lopez shook his head. "No, man--sorry. She didn't leave any address, but--" he stopped, a calculating look coming to his eyes.

"What is it?" Dick's voice dropped, becoming cold. 

"With the proper amount of prompting," Lopez began, holding up his wad of money, and then casually putting it away. "I could remember the license plate on the van."

Dick had to fight off a strong urge to reach across the desk and pull the attendant's lungs out. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Mirroring Lopez's earlier casual moves, Dick opened his billfold, pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and pausing, gauged Lopez's reaction.

The dishonest attendant rolled his eyes and began flipping his magazine again. "Sorry, but that license plate number is suddenly becoming really fuzzy in my memory."

Dick pulled out a third twenty. 

"I'm sorry, Officer Grayson," Lopez said without looking up. "But unless you have further questions for me, I really have a lot of work to do--"

Dick stuffed a wad of bills inside the morgue clerk's right breast pocket. Smirking in triumph, Lopez was about to reach inside his pocket, when Dick suddenly grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Talk," Dick ordered.

His expression ugly, Lopez looked like was about to refuse, when Dick pulled out a hundred dollar bill. Holding it just under the other's nose, Dick gave him an icy look.

"Talk," he repeated.

Giving him a weak grin, Lopez nodded eagerly. "Anything for the boys in blue, Grayson. It was a California plate--2RSF--something. The rest looked like it'd been smudged--!" 

He gasped when Dick applied added pressure to his wrist. Quickly, Lopez described the van and the beautiful, yet strange female visitor who'd claimed the body. He also mentioned something that instantly caught Dick's attention. 

"--Maybe someone was inside. But it was too dark to get a good look. I **_swear_** that's all I saw. 

Dick squeezed harder, his expression ruthless.

"It's the **_truth_**, man! I **_swear_** it!"

Dick deliberately reached into Lopez's breast pocket and took out the wad of bills he'd originally placed in there.

"Hey--!" Lopez protested as Dick carefully returned the money to his own billfold. Giving Lopez a friendly wave and a smile, Dick turned to go.

"Have a nice day." 

****

Bludhaven: The Moonlight Club

[Friday 0500hrs EST]

****

Cordelia took slow, measured steps through the alley lying adjacent to the Moonlight Club. After Nightwing left her, she called a cab and came here. She wasn't sure why, she just knew that she had to. 

Cordelia looked around the alley, not really knowing what she was searching for. Standing in the middle of the alley, she glanced up at the soaring walls of the surrounding buildings. 

The Moonlight Club lay adjacent to a tech firm, a loan company, and a covered parking lot. After a moment, she noticed the dim chalk outline that marked the location where the body lay.

Closing her eyes, Cordelia concentrated, trying to 'see' the attack once more. Nothing. She sighed. It never worked when she **_wanted_** it to work.

She was about to turn away, when she stopped.

"Waitaminute," she muttered. She walked back to the chalk mark, and crouched down until she could get a better look at it. She stared up at the MediTech Tower and its attached covered parking.

"No, that doesn't look right!" She stood up slowly and paced for a while, stopping every few seconds to stare at the parking lot and then the tower. She slowly turned a hundred eighty degrees, her eyes traveling up to the Moonlight Club's rotating neon sign. "He wasn't **_at_** the Moonlight Club when he died." She was already running as she spoke. "He was looking at the Moonlight Club!" 

****

Bludhaven: Traveling South on "The Spine"

[Friday 0510hrs EST]

****

"~**_AH-CHOO_**~" Dick blew his nose for about the hundredth time since the start of his shift. He made a big show of wiping his eyes and then gave Amy a brave smile. "Sorry, Sarge," he croaked. "I'm fine, really."

Amy rolled her eyes in disgust.

"That does it, Grayson!" She picked up the mike and called in that they were returning to headquarters. "**_You_** may be all right--but if you sneeze, wheeze, and cough on me one more time, **_I_** may not be all right! We're going back to base, and **_you're_** going home! To bed! Understand?"

"But Sar-arge!" Dick protested. "I **_can't_** go home! With these whacko murders plaguing the city, you **_know_** the squad's short-handed as it **_is_**!" 

He gave Amy his best 'Alfred-I'm-feeling-sick-and-can't-go-to-school-today' whine. Amy glared at him. Dick returned her stare with his most ingenuous, bluest-eyed expression. Even **_Bruce_** used to fall prey to that look, he remembered...

****

"Alfred, I really think he needs to stay home today, don't you?" a worried Bruce looked up from Dick's bedside.

"Absolutely, sir," Alfred responded drolly. "Such an Academy Award performance deserves reward. Don't you agree, Master Dick?"

****

Dick looked away, hiding a sudden grin. He never could fool Alfred.

"And don't give me that hurt, puppy-dog look," Amy said disgustedly. "You're going home to bed and that's an order! Got it, Rookie?"

"But--" Dick started, then sneezed violently. 

Without a word, Amy turned on the emergency lights and pressed her foot down on the accelerator. Dick was suddenly thrown back into his seat. He opened his mouth to protest again, but Amy cut him off.

"No **_buts_**--!" she snarled.

"Yes, ma'am," Dick said meekly.

Dick slid down in his seat, outwardly the picture of hurt dejection. Inside, he allowed himself a moment of smugness. Barbara was running down the license plate that the morgue attendant had supplied, and Dick was anxious to get back to the case.

"No one told me I had to be the senior partner **_and_** a den mother," Amy muttered.

****

End of Part 4


	5. Part 5

Summary: Cordelia decides to investigate on her own and quickly runs into danger.

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. 

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Bludhaven: Covered Garage, 

Corporate offices of Medical Technology and Cell Research, Inc. 

(AKA MediTech Tower)

[Friday 0521hrs EST]

****

Cordelia slowed to a walk as she reached the underground tunnel that led into the lower levels of the covered garage. 

"Okay. If I was an elevator, where would **_I be?" she muttered. She stared at the tunnel's dark recesses. "Not _****_that way," she decided firmly. "Elevators go up. That's a definite down!" The sound of a motor echoed eerily in the early morning darkness, startling her. Without thinking, she ducked into the shadows in the tunnel's entrance. _**

"Down it is," she whispered, ruefully. Listening intently, she waited, her heart hammering in her chest. Within a few moments, she heard the screech of tires in the distance, roaring into the Bludhaven predawn darkness. The deserted garage loomed threateningly. Cordelia swallowed, looking around in quick, furtive movements. Her mind's eye pictured a vampire behind every parked car. What was she doing here? This was Angel's territory.

She stopped. Angel wasn't here. He'd **_fired her, she reminded herself. _****_Again! Cordelia straightened her shoulders._**

"Well, I don't **_need Angel," she muttered. "This is _****_my case. _****_My vampire!"_**

She stopped again. Vampire. She looked at her empty hands and swallowed. If she **_was hunting a vampire who was bent on siring new ones, then it would be the height of folly to go after it without any weapons. Cordelia took a deep, shaky breath, wiping her hands on her leather jacket. She felt momentarily uncertain of her next move. "What would Angel do?" she wondered._**

At her words, Cordelia rolled her eyes at herself. "Duh! He'd go in and kick some serious vampire butt. The question is...what would **_Wesley do?" She smiled to herself. Her favorite 'rogue demon hunter'--as Wesley once described himself--would arm himself with so many weapons, he'd be rendered ineffective.  _**

No, the best tactic for Cordelia would be that of scout: Investigate the area and find a way into the building. Once inside, she should locate the office where the latest victim was murdered. As soon as she had the information, then she should report back to Nightwing.

"Only, I don't know how to contact him," she suddenly realized. And his mysterious assistant, Oracle, hadn't left a calling card. Studying the now threatening, gloomy tunnel, Cordelia felt an icy fear take hold. Shaking her head, Cordelia chastised herself.

"Get a grip, Cordy," she muttered. "It's five-thirty in the morning. What can go wrong?"

With these words, Cordelia headed into the tunnel...

****

Gotham City: Clock Tower

[Friday 0530hrs EST]

****

Barbara Gordon sat hunched over her terminal, squinting with absolute concentration at her monitor. She'd started her search for the partial license plate number almost as soon as Dick called it in. 

According to Dick's report, the female suspect who'd claimed the victim's body at the city morgue had been wearing dark glasses (in the middle of the night), a black overcoat, black boots, and gloves. 

_Precluding any chances of fingerprints, Barbara sighed. _

The morgue attendant further described the suspect as having long, blonde hair and very pale skin. 

"Pale skin!" Barbara repeated sardonically. "I'll **_bet!"_**

Furthermore, Lopez stated that he **_thought he'd seen movement from inside the van, indicating that the suspect had a companion. However, the informant hadn't been certain._**

The van was black, with heavily tinted windows--almost opaque--black drapes strung around the rear windows. Lopez told Dick that he'd offered to help the 'bereaved sister' load her brother's body onto the van, but she'd surprised him by easily hefting the gurney entirely by herself.

"California plates, 2RSF--something," Barbara muttered. "Not much to go on." At this moment, her terminal beeped, indicating that her search had hit on something of interest. Quickly accessing her database, Barbara scanned the information as it scrolled by.

Pausing the scrolling every few lines or so, Barbara read and discarded data at a speed borne of long experience. Suddenly she stopped.

Several plates with the four-digit prefix caught her attention. Each of the plates was registered in Los Angeles to a single corporate owner--Wolfram and Hart.

Her glasses sliding down the bridge of her slender nose, Barbara stared at screen before her, trying to recall where she'd recently seen mention of the LA law firm. 

Something about a mass murder...

****

Bludhaven: Covered Garage, 

MediTech Tower 

[Friday 0540hrs EST]

****

...The tunnel's murky gloom embraced Cordelia. She felt a slight shiver at the noticeable drop in temperature. Mentally hardening her resolve, she took a determined step forward. As she walked, she clung to the tunnel's far right side, running her fingers lightly along the cold, concrete wall to keep her balance. The only sound was that of her footsteps echoing along the length of the passage.

Cordelia squinted, trying to see through the opaque blackness. She surmised that the tunnel probably curved up ahead, explaining why she couldn't see the other end. She could also discern a noticeable drop, as the tunnel descended into the lower regions of the parking garage. 

To save on the high cost of energy, the interior lights were probably on a timer and turned off during the morning hours. Unfortunately, since this was January, sunrise was still another hour or so away.

_Just like home, she thought wryly. What was a good vampire-hunt without the requisite dark and sinister place? __Somebody tell me again **why I'm doing this? She asked herself, and then added, answering her own question, **__Because there's a female vampire going around collecting good-looking, single, young men. _

"And good-looking, single, young men are hard enough to find these days," she muttered.

"That's **_so true!" _**

Cordelia gasped, jumping at the vaguely familiar voice behind her. She whirled around, but couldn't see anything. She had to be at the midpoint of the tunnel's curve, because she was enveloped in total darkness, unable to see in either direction.

"Who said that?" she demanded. Cordelia mentally kicked herself. She'd meant to sound self-assured and assertive, but her voice barely registered above a whisper.

"Don't you remember me?" The soft, taunting voice asked from behind her. Cordelia again spun around. Nothing. 

An amused laugh resounded eerily through the tunnel. Cordelia fell back against the wall, and started running in the same direction from where she'd come, looking over her shoulder at whatever might be coming from behind her.

Unexpectedly, she slammed into something that grabbed her by the arms. Cordelia shrieked and pulled with a desperation borne of adrenaline-induced strength, managing to break away.

Keeping her balance, Cordelia stumbled in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the tunnel. All of a sudden, the beautiful psychic tumbled over an unforeseen obstacle, a waist-high chain that was strung across the tunnel, which closed it to vehicle traffic.

Cordelia cried out in surprise as she went over, falling with enough force to knock the wind out of her. Struggling to regain her feet, Cordelia could feel her strength failing, depleted by her growing terror. 

"You know, you only have yourself to blame for this, Cordelia. You should never have started hanging out with those loser-friends of Buffy!" 

Startled, Cordelia looked up. "Y-You know me? You know Buffy?" 

Her questions were met by ugly laughter. "Who doesn't know of the Slayer?" 

Again, Cordelia was struck by the uncanny familiarity of the disembodied voice. Who **_was it? Fighting her gut-wrenching fear, Cordelia scooted backwards until she ran into the concrete wall. Keeping her back to it, she used the wall to help her regain her feet._**

Cordelia could **_sense the evil presence nearby. It was coming closer. Feeling around for a weapon of any sorts, Cordelia's hand closed around the chain that she'd stumbled over._**

"Why are you afraid, Cordelia?" the mocking voice asked. "We used to be friends, remember? We even made the cheerleader varsity team together."

"Who **_are you?" Even as she spoke, Cordelia worked with panicked haste, pulling at the chain to free it from whatever kept it bolted to the wall. _**

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" Cordelia's unseen tormentor burst into amused laughter. Frantically, Cordelia planted one foot against the wall and started pulling with all her strength.  

"Get it? I'd have to kill you?" 

In desperation, Cordelia also placed her other foot against the wall and yanked with renewed frenzy. 

"On the other hand," the disembodied voice continued, "You always were so stuck up." She paused, and then burst out in amused laughter. "And sucked big-time as a cheerleader. I guess I'll have to kill you anyway."

As Cordelia pulled with all the power she could muster, she almost jumped out of her skin as someone tapped her on the shoulder. The adrenaline rush brought on by this new onslaught of terror, multiplied the intensity of her efforts, and suddenly, Cordelia, the chain, and whoever was standing behind her, went over backwards!

She could hear the metallic clang of the bolt as it fell onto the tunnel's concrete floor.

Cordelia and her would-be attacker both screamed simultaneously. However, Cordelia recovered first, and swinging the chain as hard as she could, she lashed out blindly, connecting.

"**_Ow! Hey, that _****_hurt!" the surprised entity cried. "And my _****_hair! You better _****_not have messed up my hair!"_**

"I am **_not stuck up!" Cordelia cried, diving in the direction she'd thought she heard the bolt fall. Crawling on all fours, she felt urgently around for it._**

"Oh, yeah? Well, you never **_liked me! You only _****_pretended to be my friend."_**

That caused Cordelia to pause. Who **_was that? The voice was so familiar--? Her hand suddenly closed around the large bolt. She experienced a moment of triumph as she ran her fingers along its sharpened tip. Straightening her shoulders, she suddenly stood and defiantly faced the dark, her hand firmly closed around the deadly weapon._**

"**_Pretended to be your friend? Hel-_****_lo? I don't usually make friends with vampires," she said._**

"And what about Angel?" the voice countered. "I suppose because he has a stupid soul, he's not a vampire?"

"Maybe," Cordelia admitted. "But at least when he looks at me, he's not wondering what kind of wine I'd go best with!"

The voice laughed. "Wine? Really, Cordelia--you're more like a blue-plate luncheon special at some cheap diner."

"Okay," Cordelia muttered to herself. "Now you've made me mad." Whipping the bolt around in her hand, she threw out a challenge, "In that case, I hope I give you heartburn--!"

At that moment, a flashlight's beam, coming from somewhere behind Cordelia, pierced the darkness and fully exposed her mysterious attacker.

"Harmony--?" Cordelia squealed. It was the last thing she saw as her head exploded!

****

Bludhaven: Traveling South on the "Spine"

[Friday 0545hrs EST]

****

"You ran the down the plates?" Dick asked, pleased by Barbara's quick success. Signaling a lane change, he turned his motorcycle towards the US 61 on-ramp. The major artery cut through the heart of Bludhaven. "Have I told you lately that you're beautiful?"

"What does being beautiful have to do with running down license plates?"

"Well, I could've told you that you're a genius, but that wouldn't earn me a kiss later, would it?"

Barbara's soft laughter caressed his ear, sending a thrill through his body. "Don't count on it, ex-Boy Genius," she teased. "I'm still waiting for my flowers."

Dick smiled in turn.

"So you say you found a connection between an LA law firm--Wolfram and Hart--and MediTech?" Dick asked, instead. "Just what kind of cell research does MediTech do anyway? And what about ties to LexCorp? Any bites?" Barbara groaned at his pun. Dick smiled as listened to the sound of papers rustling over his earpiece.

"Let's see..." Barbara murmured. "According to company classified documents, Wolfram and Hart petitioned the Securities and Exchange Commission early last year to broker a merger between Medical Technology and Cell Research, Inc., better known as MediTech and...Sorry, the second company's identity remained Top Secret, its name kept off all official documents." 

She paused, whistling under her breath as she continued to read through the lengthy legal papers.

"Hmmm...? Here's something else that's a little interesting. Apparently, the SEC nixed the merger--or at least, it wouldn't give the green light to the LA law firm to act as the go-between for the two companies. Something about Wolfram and Hart's questionable bookkeeping practices."

"What about their bookkeeping?" Dick asked curiously. He saw his exit for Avalon Heights coming up and signaled a lane change.

"Couldn't tell you," Barbara replied. "All correspondence between the SEC and the LA firm has been wiped from existence. Even the original SEC files I hacked into--the ones that named the LA firm. They must've had a self-destruct, because as soon as I opened them, they set off a virus command, which immediately destroyed them."

"And there's nothing left?" Dick asked, surprised that Barbara might have been caught flatfooted.

"Well, the dot-com trail completely peters out. That is, what I can access from here--"

"And--?" Dick asked.

"--And it appears that the major players mentioned earlier have either disappeared, or simply ceased to exist. Names, dates, everything--"

"But--?"

"--But I have a photographic memory and am even now reconstructing everything that I read before the whole thing crashed."

Dick pulled his motorcycle into MediTech's parking garage. He slowed as he came to an automatic tollbooth, and stopping, pressed the button on the auto-ticket dispenser, taking one. The single-arm barrier instantly went up, permitting him entrance. Driving around the covered garage for a few moments, Dick couldn't find a parking space and decided to try the lower parking areas.

"Beautiful **_and a genius." He spoke as he slowly followed the arrows pointing toward the lower levels._**

"Hmmm...?" Barbara asked, distracted.

"I said, dinner at your place after we close this case."

"You bring the eats, I'll supply the seats," Barbara quipped.

"That's a deal," Dick readily agreed. Then, getting immediately back to business, he mused aloud, "Babs, you said that some of the people involved seemed to have just disappeared. But there has to be **_something--some kind of a trail at least. I mean, people don't just disappear--" _**

"Duh--! Tell me something I don't know, Boy Detective. I'm working on it, okay?"

"Hey, okay, okay--we're still on for dinner, so don't start trying to get mad at me or anything."

"Interrupt me again while I'm working from memory, and you'll owe me more than dinner. And flowers won't cut it, either. I'll expect something that Catwoman would want to steal."

"I'll tell you what. You reconstruct the lost data from memory, and I'll get you flowers, a gourmet dinner, and a bauble so garish that you'll need sunglasses to look at it."

"You can keep your bauble, Mister Heir to the Throne. But I'll take the gourmet dinner and flowers. With an incentive like that, I'll be done before you finish with your end there."

"Wanna make a bet?" he asked, playfully. Barbara's unexpected response made him suck in his breath between his teeth. Her low, husky voice whispered suggestively in his earpiece, making him blush at first, and then smile broadly. 

"You've got a bet, Ms. Gordon," he murmured. He finally spotted an open space, and parking checked his watch. 05:45. It was almost daylight. Taking a small knapsack from his saddlebags, Dick looked around for the employee elevators. After a couple of minutes of fruitless search--_How the heck do these people get to work?--he found them, hidden in a darkened, recessed area._

****

End of Part 5


	6. Part 6

Summary: Lilah Morgan muses on the little people; Dick investigates MediTech and uncovers a conspiracy that could reach the highest office in the land. 

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. Again, mucho thanks to Terri Snyder for beta-reading.

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Los Angeles: Wolfram and Hart, Attorneys at Law

[Friday 0545hrs EST//0245hrs PST//]

****

From her 30-story office, Lilah Morgan stared out at the City of Angels. She mused on all the little people down below, scurrying about their dull, daily lives. So far everything had been going according to plan. Unfortunately, Lindsey wasn't dead, yet. But the day was still young.

The agents from the Department of Meta-Human Affairs had been sent from the highest levels. Apparently, Wolfram and Hart's newest client was so powerful, his influence was believed to reach the White House, itself.

She grinned. "I wouldn't doubt it if Vice President Ross is involved. Never did trust his homespun boyish charm." _And how about the rest of President Luthor's Cabinet? she mused. __Talk about a rogue's gallery straight out of the Book of Saints--all do-gooders, all straight-laced. Maybe one of **them could be behind this! **__But** who? **__Who **is our mystery client? **_

Lilah stared at the night-lights of the city, lost in thought. Whoever the client was, he or she badly wanted MediTech and had gone to exorbitant lengths to acquire it. Lilah thought about MediTech's much vaunted cell research, which made it a pillar in the cancer fighting medical society. Its recent progress in Genome research had won two of its scientists a Nobel Prize and a large grant from the Wayne Foundation. The company's stock had shot up as a result and was currently trading on the New York Stock Exchange at $150 per share.

But Lilah knew that MediTech's public research was not what interested Wolfram and Hart's client. Rather, their shadowy customer sought MediTech's darker, "Special Projects Research," which Lilah surmised could in the right--or **_wrong--hands give its wielder almost absolute power._**

This was the kind of power she coveted. The kind of power for which she'd sell her soul. _If I hadn't sold already it to Wolfram Hart, she added wryly._

Her expression darkened, thinking about her current status at Wolfram and Hart. _Little more than a toady, she growled. __I do all the dirty work and the partners get all the glory. Worse, there was Lindsey. Lilah competed with Lindsey for every scrap of recognition she received--many times winding up on the losing end.  _

At this admission, her scowl deepened. She felt a momentary cold anger sweep through her. At first Lilah believed that she'd be able to easily brush her primary rival aside, as she had so many in the past, but Lindsey had proven resilient, and in his own way, quite resourceful--a tough adversary. 

But Lindsey also had a weakness, one that anyone in their business could ill afford--a conscience. True, like her, Lindsey was regularly called upon to perform many an unconscionable act for Wolfram and Hart, and he carried them out just as coldly as she. Nonetheless, there were times in the past when Lindsey had let his heart get in the way of his duties, and he'd balked at one or another particularly gruesome task. 

Of course, such acts of altruism were deeply frowned upon by the senior partners. As a result, Lindsey had been called on the carpet at lease once and forced to pay a handsome penalty. Lilah pouted, frustrated that they'd allowed him to live, placing him on temporary probation. 

Still, Lilah smiled in grim satisfaction. Lindsey was weak, and sooner or later, he'd once again succumb to an attack of conscience. _Which would be your downfall, my dear, boy--if I were patient enough to wait for you to trip yourself up. But Lilah had no such patience. Therefore, Lindsey would soon cease to be a problem._

Lilah's eyes turned to an antique box of inlaid wood sitting openly on her bookshelf. She brought her wineglass up to her lips and drank deeply, tossing back the remaining contents. _Where better to hide something than out in the open? She mused._

Feeling suddenly heady, Lilah threw her arms out in triumph and twirled around her office in an impromptu victory dance. Spinning faster and faster at a dizzying pace, she finally fell in a happy exhaustion on her desk chair. Chest heaving, she leaned far back and closed her eyes, enjoying an overwhelming sense of peace. 

She thought again of how she'd finally beat Lindsey. Before the two federal agents had even stepped off the plane at LAX, Lilah had already replaced the firm's stealth demons with her own. Therefore, 'her' demons had possessed the feds and were now on their way to Bludhaven where they were to meet up with Lindsey and that blonde-bimbo vampire that--Lilah giggled in sudden amusement--unknown to him, she'd personally arranged for.

And best of all, the demons were to kill Lindsey and make it look like an accident. Under no circumstances was his death to be traced back to her. Wolfram and Hart encouraged **_unhealthy rivalry among its junior executives, but they _****_discouraged the unauthorized disposal of company employees who still had several more years left to serve on their blood contracts._**

After all, an employee's soul came at a high price, and the company expected to reap a high return for its initial investment on everyone they 'hired.' Taking in the rather luxurious accommodations of her executive suite, Lilah admitted that the firm offered its employees the finest benefits possible. All one had to do was sell his soul to the firm--literally. Still, when an avaricious soul was tempted with material wealth beyond his wildest dreams, plus a great vacation package and health benefits (to include dental), he willingly signed on the dotted line--in blood. 

Once on staff, the employees gave Wolfram and Hart their undying loyalty and carried out the firm's rather shadowy agenda. However, if they failed in their assigned duties, or tried to betray the company in some way, they faced an eternity of damnation in some hellish alternate dimension.

Lilah shuddered at the possible tortures that she faced if she were caught. Were the rewards worth the risk, she wondered?

Again, her eyes traveled towards the antique box, and her hand automatically fingered a small key hanging from her neck. After a moment, she grinned again. "That's a most definite **_yes!" she declared. Recalling the events of the past few days, she thought about her success in finding a copy of the ever-elusive demon-controlling spell of Braxta, a 10th Century ascetic scribe who seemed to have spent a lot of time copying texts from the dark arts and not much else._**

"Must've been a barrel of laughs at parties," she muttered. 

According to all the ancient literature on demonology, Braxta's spell was lost some 600 years ago after one of those incredibly stupid purges of so-called 'witches' that seemed to have been rampant in Western Europe at the time. Apparently, an illiterate farmer accused a local hermit of being in league with the devil--Lilah rolled her eyes at this--after the recluse warned him that his chickens would stop laying eggs if the farmer didn't feed and water them regularly. When his warning proved true, the farmer accused the hermit of being a sorcerer, and the poor man was burned at the stake.

_That's what he gets for being stupid! Lilah grumbled. __Maybe next time he'll know enough to keep his big mouth shut. _

In this case Lilah knew, the ignorant farmer had actually been right. The recluse had indeed been a sorcerer, and unfortunately, his store of books and knowledge was lost with him. Or so, the legend went. _Luckily, I don't believe in dusty old legends. After all, if one raggedy old hermit could have a copy of Braxta's controlling spell, then so could others. Lilah immediately started an Internet search, and quickly got several hits. Happily, Los Angeles' teeming underworld population proved yet again to be of great help. _

An underground website led her to a Morha demon who knew an Ebla demon whose littermate knew a lost soul that...Well, to make a long story short, the trail finally led her to her quarry, a recluse transcriber demon, living deep inside the sewer system. Recalling their meeting, Lilah's nose wrinkled...

She remembered looking carefully around the demon's shadowy, smelly, and **_creepy underground home, jumping at every scurrying sound that announced yet another sewer rat, avoiding the foul water that dripped unrelentingly from above. _**

"Don't you think you're carrying out this **_hermit tradition just a little too far?" she asked in exasperation. "After all, this _****_is the 21st Century! Why don't you move into a condo or a town house? There's always a new housing complex going up along Lake Shore Drive." _**

"I don't like people," he growled. "They're too messy." 

Looking around at the filth in which he lived, Lilah rolled her eyes. "You're kidding, right?"

The demon ignored her. "Besides, they smell funny." At that, he gave a sudden sniff in her direction and paused, intrigued. "What is that scent? Most unusually pleasant." He sniffed again, taking a step towards her. At that, Lilah stepped back nervously.

"I-it's just my perfume," she stuttered. "Midnight Song." 

"Most pleasant," he repeated, but didn't approach her again. Gathering her courage, Lilah quickly went straight to business. 

"I understand that you have the sole-remaining copy of Braxta's controlling spell. I want it, and I'm willing to pay any price to get it."

"Not for sale," the scribe said, instantly dismissing her. "Now, I'm terribly busy, so if you'll excuse me, I have things to do."

As he turned away, Lilah's natural battle instincts took over, and she plunged in for a long fight. In the end, of course, Lilah got what she wanted. The demon might be several hundred years old, but he was no match for a legal mind that had been honed under the 'gentle' ministrations of Wolfram and Hart. Besides, she let him sniff her perfume again.

"How do I know that you will not turn the spell against me?" he demanded. "You humans are most treacherous. Why, you willingly turn against your own mothers."

"True, but she needed killing," Lilah admitted with a shrug. "I'll tell you what...I'll sign a blood contract guaranteeing that the spell will never be used on you. What do you say? Do we have a deal?" 

In the end, the price she paid for Braxta's spell was ridiculously cheap. And the two demons she now had under her control would pay back her investment a thousand-fold...

"Too bad for our mysterious client, **_my demons own the two agents. And I own the demons." _**

Lilah thought of the lengths to which she'd gone to find a transcriber demon that had a copy of the controlling spell she needed--a demon scribe who could be bought. Funny how everyone had a price. Even demons. The scribe's asking price? A bottle of her perfume, Midnight Song, plus a chance for a fresh start somewhere else. 

Apparently, Angel Investigations was hurting the local demon business, and several of LA's evildoers were losing their soulless lives. Unfortunately for them, since they had no souls and were basically totally evil, if they died in a fight against the forces of good, their 'reward' was suffering in agony for all eternity. 

So, the demon scribe wanted out of LA, and she had the means to whisk him out. She drew up the necessary blood contract, a one-for-one exchange: Braxta's demon controlling spell for a one-way, all-expense-paid trip to Aruba. The transcriber demon would get to live the easy life on a nice, warm, and sunny Caribbean island. While she replaced the stealth demons that Wolfram and Hart had arranged for, with two that she controlled. Both parties got what they wanted. 

"And everybody's happy." Smiling, she added, "The best part of it is...I'll soon be rid of Lindsey." 

She poured herself another glass of wine and took a sip, not bothering to give thought to the four drinks she'd already downed, nor to the fact that she still had to drive home. She might be low on the Wolfram and Hart totem pole at the moment, but at least, she wasn't on the same level as the losers below. 

And soon her position at Wolfram and Hart would change for the better. She'd finally receive the ultimate prize--a full partnership. Gazing out at the night full of little, inconsequential people, she murmured, "There but for the grace of God--"

"I doubt if God's Grace has had anything to do with you or your accomplishments."

Lilah whirled around, a sharp gasp involuntarily escaping her lips. In her momentary panic, she spilled the drink she'd been holding. Realizing who her unwelcome guest was, Lilah immediately put on her best power-face and reached for the phone. 

Angel grabbed her before she could pick it up and alert security. "You know that we have vampire monitors," she said calmly. "Security will be here any second and--"

"That's all the time I need," Angel said, smiling gently. Somehow, that made him even more frightening. On closer inspection, Lilah could almost see into the darkness of his soul. She swallowed nervously. Even with a soul, Angel was still a vampire. And ever since the messy 'incident' with Darla and Dru, he hadn't exactly been playing by the old rules.

Thirteen dead, she thought with a shiver. Of course, that meant thirteen less rivals against whom she had to contend. But still, she could easily become number fourteen.

"What do you want?" Lilah demanded, jerking her wrist free from Angel's grasp. He let her go and waited. Lilah's nervousness grew. "Well--?" Angel smiled. Again, the gentleness of his expression sent a cold shiver shooting up and down her spine.

"I want to see you and Lindsey burn in Hell," he answered. "But until then, I'll settle for some information."

Lilah tensed. "What kind of information?"

"The kind you seem to be good at getting. Word on the street is that Wolfram and Hart is mediating a corporate merger with a company in Bludhaven. Something about expanding your somewhat shadowy influence on the East Coast. Bludhaven would, of course, only be the toehold--you plan on expanding from there. Maybe to Gotham City or Metropolis. Or, who knows...maybe even Washington, DC."

"What--?" Lilah laughed outright, but it sounded forced. "Washington, DC? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Wolfram and Hart recruiting a couple of stealth demons into shanghaiing two federal agents. I don't know why--yet. But you're going to tell me--" 

A pounding at the door interrupted them.

"Ms. Morgan? Ms. Morgan, are you all right?"

Lilah opened her mouth to respond, but Angel instantly placed a finger ever so gently on her lips. He gave her his most charming smile, his dark, brooding eyes actually lighting up in amusement.

"I don't have to warn you about what I'll do if you don't say the right thing?"

Not for the first time since Lilah started working at Wolfram and Hart, she felt an icy fear in the pit of her stomach. Staring into the vampire, Angelus' warm, dark eyes, Lilah nodded. Angel stepped aside. She looked at him uncertainly, but at his nod, she walked to the door, opening it part way.

"Uh, y-yes! I'm fine," she said to the guards, not letting them in. "Please, I have a ton of paperwork to catch up on. Is this an emergency?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the security officer apologized. "We just got definite readings that an unregistered vampire is in the building, and our instruments traced him here. I'm afraid that we're going to have to search your office."

"Look here!" Lilah said, outraged. "I already told you--"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Boss's orders." With that the contingent of security guards stepped into her office and began to sweep it with their specialized instruments.

Within minutes, they were leaving, apologizing for disturbing her. Once they were gone, Lilah stood in the middle of her office, feeling indecisive. Where was he, she wondered?

"Here," he said, stepping in from the window. Startled, Lilah gasped. Angel grinned, self-effacingly. "It's nothing." Then, his voice dropping several degrees, he added in low, silky tones, "Now, as you were about to tell me..."

****

Bludhaven: the Corporate Offices of MediTech

[Friday 0545hrs EST]

****

Dick emerged from the Men's Room, and clipboard in hand, walked confidently down the brightly lit hallway. He wore a white lab coat, complete with pen/pencil plastic pocket holder, fake ID clipped to his pocket, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

_The picture of ultra-geekness, he thought with pride. _

A couple in deep conversation passed him in the corridor. Dick avoided eye contact by suddenly appearing thoroughly engrossed in the contents of his clipboard. He studiously held his pen over it, to all outward appearances making very important annotations to his very important papers.  

As soon as the couple stepped around the corner, Dick continued his search for the records office. Finally, he found it, a heavy-gauge, steel door labeled 'Records: Authorized Personnel Only.' A security keypad was installed on the right hand side of the door. Bringing his hand up to his horn-rimmed glasses, Dick pressed a hidden button. 

Instantly, a virtual heads-up display appeared before his right eye. He quickly scrolled a retina-activated menu, selecting an 'Open Sesame' icon. He blinked, activating it. Immediately, the icon was replaced by a virtual keypad with five flashing numerals.

Taking a brief moment to study the keypad, Dick deciphered the proper sequence for the security code. He blinked twice, deactivating the 'Open Sesame' program, and punched in the numerical code onto the real security keypad. The steel-gauge door clicked open, and Dick immediately stepped inside.

"I'm in," he whispered.

"Nice going, Hunk Wonder," Barbara teased seductively in his ear. "Now how about running a quick scan so's I can see whatever there is to see?" Nodding, Dick complied. Reactivating his special glasses, he turned his head 360 degrees, transmitting digital telemetry. "Hmmm...nice stuff," Barbara murmured in admiration.

Dick grinned, knowing that she was referring to the ten, shoulder-high servers that lined the wall along one side. "Easy, Babs," he whispered. "I might get jealous." 

"Can you hook me up to one of them?" she asked. "I want to get a look-see at their files--hopefully without their disappearing on me as soon as I access them."

"You got it." Dick quickly removed his glasses, and unscrewing the left ear guard, he carefully pulled out a pair of wires. Unscrewing the right ear guard, he extracted a double-ended connector, and taking the wires, he jacked them to the female end of the connector. Next, he plugged the male end to the server.

"Okay, Babs," he said. "I've got you hooked. Stand by for transmission." At Barbara's acknowledgement, Dick pressed the same hidden button on the glasses. "And we're hot," he said quietly.

"Standing by..." Barbara said. "Got it! Data's coming in!"

"Good. While you play with your toys, I'll just take a looksee 'round this vault," Dick told her. He spotted a row of filing cabinets across the room. Quickly glancing through the outside tags, he found one labeled 'W.' Shrugging, he grabbed the handle and pulled.

Locked.

Inspecting the small lock, Dick shook his head. "They've gotta be kidding," he muttered and quickly picked it. Within minutes, he found a thick file labeled 'Wolfram and Hart.' As he pulled it out of the drawer, a single sheet of paper suddenly slipped from it onto the floor. Bending to pick it up, Dick caught a glimpse of the letterhead. And stopped cold.

"I've got something, Babs," he murmured.

"What is it?" she asked, sounding distracted.

"A carbon copy of a contract--dated yesterday--signed by a representative from Wolfram and Hart, Lindsey McDonald." He whistled softly. "Babs, you won't believe this. It looks like the signature was written in--" He paused, swallowing in distaste. "--in **_blood." _**

Barbara gasped. Fingering the letterhead, Dick found his voice and added softly. "Babs, that's not all. Wolfram and Hart is apparently working with MediTech on something big with LexCorp!"

"LexCorp?" Barbara hissed. "Dick, the two witnesses that Addad interviewed last night--they said they'd just completed brokering a deal with LexCorp!"

"Yeah...something about signing on the dotted line." Dick paused, reading. 

"Dick, I haven't had enough time to go through all the data that's being downloaded, but so far, there's no mention of LexCorp. And..." she paused. "And remember the earlier information I found on a merger being brokered by Wolfram and Hart--?"

"Yeah...What about it?" he asked.

"It's disappeared! And so far, I haven't been able to find it on any of the current data that you're sending." Barbara's voice sounded worried. "Dick, these people are fast erasing any trails that could lead back to them. Soon there's going to be **_no records left that can be traced--for _****_whatever they're doing!"_**

"Hmmm...I wouldn't be too sure about that," Dick muttered, glancing through the file he held. "Babs, isn't MediTech known for its Genome research? Didn't they clone a sheep, or something?"

"Sure, they're pretty much on the leading edge of gene research--and in cloning experimentation," Barbara replied. "They've even been giving Star Labs a run for their money lately. Everybody knows that."

"So then, I suppose that everybody also knows about MediTech's secret research into Meta-human genetics? More specifically, the study of vampires and other monsters?"

"What?"

"And that LexCorp has just signed a Top Secret agreement with them to somehow merge LexCorp's study of Kryptonian genetics with that of MediTech's vampire research?"

"But the Supreme Court ruled the research into Kryptonian genetics as illegal and ordered it all destroyed!" Barbara protested. "In a unanimous agreement, the Court stated that just the **_possibility of Superman being cloned was too great a threat for the world and all of humanity in order to be allowed!"_**

"I know, Babs," Dick said patiently. "The world's just plain lucky that Superboy didn't turn out to be some kind of Super-Frankenstein's Monster. To make sure that another Super-clone was never created again, the JLA personally carried out the Supreme Court's order and destroyed all the known genetic research material on Superman. The Titans witnessed the destruction, remember? I was **_there! I _****_saw!" _**

There was a long silence from the other end, finally broken by Barbara's tentative voice. "Then what do you think all this means?"

"I think that maybe the Kryptonian genetic material I witnessed being destroyed was not all the material that had been created," he said quietly. "And that maybe LexCorp is trying to clone Superman." He paused, gazing at the distinctive Presidential Seal on the letterhead of the contract. Despite a sudden sinking feeling, he continued his voice even. 

"Or worse...There is the distinct possibility that the President of the United States may be trying to clone his own private Army of the Undead."

****

End of Part 6


	7. Part 7

Summary: Cordelia finds herself alone. Wesley and Gunn get their marching orders. Nightwing continues to play detective. And even Titans West gets in on the action. How can anything go wrong?

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. And mucho smackaroos to Terri for continuing to have the patience of beta-reading endless drafts.:)

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Bludhaven: Location unknown

[Friday 0545hrs EST]

****

"Uhhhnnn..." Cordelia painfully blinked her eyes open. What happened? The back of her head throbbed where she'd been struck. She reached up, tenderly feeling the spot. 

"**_Ow!" She quickly drew back her fingers, the sharp pain bringing a flood of images, quick-cut flashes of dimly seen shadows dancing through her head. She'd been investigating the parking lot, she recalled. _**

When...**_what?_**

Straining to look up at the ceiling that lay hidden in the deep shadows surrounding her, Cordelia realized that someone had struck her from behind the instant that the vampire revealed herself.

"Harmony?" Cordelia croaked, still stunned by revelation. Then quirking her head to one side, she added, "What self-respecting vampire would sire **_her?" She shook her head. "No accounting for taste."_**

She tried sitting up, but couldn't. She was firmly shackled to the bed--across the chest, thighs and ankles. She could move her forearm up to her the elbow, but that was about all the movement she had. 

"Terrific, probably keeping me for a midnight snack," she muttered.

"Oh, you'll be much more than a snack!" 

At that moment, the door opened, admitting a stream of light and her vampire hostess--Harmony. 

"Ta-da!" Harmony gave Cordelia a dramatic pose. "What do you think?" she asked. "I might be dead, but I'm still gorgeous!"

Cordelia bit back a retort. Instead, she lay quietly, not daring to say anything that might antagonize the female vampire.

Harmony slinked up to the foot of the bed and looked down at Cordelia, her tongue playing across her lips.

"And you, Cordelia...Look at you. Good enough to eat." She burst out in helpless peals of laughter. "Get it? Good enough to eat--?"

"I **_get it, Harmony!" Cordelia snapped. "I guess dying didn't improve your sense of delivery. You never could tell a joke!"_**

"I can so **_too--!" Harmony pouted instantly._**

"As if--!" Cordelia interrupted. "You always laugh before you say the punch line--!"

"Shut up!" Harmony cried. "Y-You j-just remember who's in charge here! Remember, **_I'm the vampire, and you--you're just a-a side dish." _**

As she spoke, Harmony moved in on Cordelia, wagging her finger at the prostrate girl. Now, the female vampire stood threateningly close, her rage transforming her into her true self. Baleful eyes glared hungrily at the helpless prisoner. Sharp fangs glimmered in the dim illumination from the open door.

Cordelia stared back at her former friend, her heart hammering in her chest. 

"You're going to be my minion's first kill," Harmony growled. "You know what new vampires are like when they first wake up! Driven wild by their bloodlust--like animals. And I'm going to enjoy every bloody, gory minute of watching you scream and squirm!" 

"**_You--? You have a minion?" Cordelia sneered. "If _****_I were a vampire and found out I'd been sired by _****_you, I-I'd _****_stake myself!"_**

"Oh, yeah?" Harmony spluttered. "Well...you--you were a **_lousy cheerleader!"_**

"**_Duh--! Who gained a hundred pounds and almost got herself kicked off the squad?" Cordelia shot back._**

"Five pounds! I only gained five pounds!" Harmony countered. "And you're the one who wanted me kicked off. I overhead you talking to Marcie." She grinned unpleasantly. "But I had the last laugh, didn't I, Cordelia?"

Cordelia glared back, refusing to respond.

Harmony straightened, her features returning to normal. She turned to leave, and paused at the door, giving Cordelia a triumphant smile that sent cold chills shooting up and down the beautiful Seer's spine.

"You shouldn't have been mean to me, Cordelia. I **_wanted you to be my friend. I _****_wanted you to like me. If you'd been nicer, I might've considered turning you. We could've had pajama parties and talked about guys and make-up and clothes for all eternity--"_**

"Oh, don't give me that, Harmony! **_You're the one who made all my friends turn against me when I started dating Xander!"_**

"He was a total Loser!" Harmony shot back. "Made the rest of us look bad by association."

Cordelia returned Harmony's cold glare. "As if you needed anything to help you look bad. Xander might've been a Loser, but he was better than the whole lot of **_you empty-headed bimbos! And besides...he saved my _****_life!"_**

"Empty-headed?" Harmony echoed, apparently not having heard anything else that Cordelia had said. "I-I'm just as smart as any **_other bimbo!" With a huff and a toss of her blonde hair, Harmony turned and slammed the door behind her._**

Cordelia lay quietly, staring at the closed door. She wasn't sure whether to be terrified or disgusted. She couldn't believe that she'd allowed herself to be captured by what was in her estimate the dumbest girl that had ever walked the halls of Sunnydale High--and now was probably the dumbest vampire ever to walk the earth. 

Still, Cordelia's fear mounted, coupled by an extraordinary sense of despair. No one knew where she was. She'd walked away from her friends and burned all her bridges behind her. She yanked uselessly at her shackles for a few moments, before giving up.

She checked her watch. It was almost 6:00 a.m. Sunrise was a few minutes away. And because it was late January, sunset would come at around 5:30 p.m. She had less than twelve hours left to live. 

Cordelia felt a lone tear fall out of the corner of her eye and splash into her ear. She was on her own.

**** 

Bludhaven: the Corporate Offices of MediTech

Records Vault

[Friday 0600hrs EST]

****

"Dick!" Barbara's voice sounded suddenly tense. "I detect a large group of people headed your way." Dick immediately started searching for a hiding place. 

"How many?" he asked.

"Ten...no twelve...thirteen--Oh, what does it matter?" Barbara cried. "Move your tush, Stud Wonder!"

"No place to move--" Dick began, and stopped. He listened against the door, the heavy sound of pounding boots running past and fading down the hallway. Letting out a breath of relief, he whispered, "Babs? I think they're gone--"

The next instant, a loud, staccato siren broke out, coupled with a soft, gentle voice that warned, "Code Red...Security Breach, Section 9...! Code Red...Security Breach, Section 9...! Code Red...Security Breach, Section 9...!

Dick didn't wait to see if the boots would return to the vault. He grabbed his glasses and tucked the manila file inside his lab coat. Carefully checking to see if the area immediately outside the vault was clear, he slipped out the door. As he turned the corner, he spotted a large group of frightened men and women in a headlong mad dash towards the emergency exit.

"**_Hurry! It's _****_loose!" _**

"We'll all be **_killed!"_**

"I always **_said this was a bad idea!"_**

"**_Oughta my way!"_**

"I **_quit! Y'hear? _****_I quit!"_**

_I've got a very bad feeling, Dick mused. He jogged a few paces forward stopping at the next corner. Looking around carefully, he saw an empty corridor, littered with hastily discarded papers, pens, and other office debris. _

The only activity was that of a bright, flashing red light, while the gentle drone over the intercom continued to warn, "Code Red in Section 9...!"

Dick paused.

At the far end of the hallway, he spotted a set of sliding glass doors that led into a darkened corridor beyond. Above the doors, a large sign in bold red letters told him that the terrified scientists had come from that direction.

**Section 9**

**Special Projects Unit**

**Authorized Personnel Only!**

Centered on each glass door was the international sign of a nuclear, chemical, and biological hazard. Before he proceeded he had to ensure that there weren't any hidden traps or dangers immediately on the other side of the doors. Pressing the hidden button on his eyeglass frames, he ran a biochemical analysis of the area.

There didn't seem to be anything amiss. _No obvious dangers at any rate_, he amended. Taking a quick look around, he saw that the doors were secured with a card-swipe lock system. Shrugging, Dick took out a palm-sized Tazer from his back pocket and quickly shorted the lock. As he did, he heard a distinct ~**_click_**~ from the door.

Smiling, Dick pressed both hands against the 'glass' doors and paused. _That's interesting, _he mused, noting that the doors were not actually made of glass. Pausing to run another scan, he noted that instead, they were made of a very dense metal alloy--transparent titanium mixed with lead and another unidentified element.

"Funny...?" he murmured. Whatever the unidentified material in the alloy was, it seemed to be giving off some kind of low-grade radiation. Slightly cocking his head in puzzlement, he noticed a greenish tint when the light hit the glass at just a certain angle. Running a second scan of the doors, he checked for danger to humans, but found none. "Babs, I think I've spotted something," he reported. "I need you to analyze--" 

A sudden crash, followed by a loud explosion was the only warning he got.

****

Los Angeles: Angel Investigations 

[Friday 0630hrs EST //Friday 0330hrs PST//]

****

"We've no choice!" Angel's intense glare cut off any further argument from Wesley and Gunn. "I want you two to catch the first available flight to Bludhaven."

"But--!" Wesley began.

"No buts!" Angel retorted sharply. "These stealth demons are more than just Lilah's means to advance at Wolfram and Hart." He held out the antique wooden box that had been sitting on Lilah's shelf earlier, locking eyes with Wesley. 

"Someone's trying to gain a toehold in the federal government--maybe even the White House--" He paused, opening the box and pulling out a rolled, yellowed parchment. "Once they do--" He handed the parchment to Wesley. "--their influence could spread around the world!"

Wesley looked up from the parchment, his eyes wide. "Th-This is Braxta's controlling spell--! Where did you **_get_** it? The last copy was supposed to have been lost in a fire over 600 years--!"

"Not this one." Angel glared out from underneath hooded eyes. "I've made a copy for myself. I want you to take this one. And memorize it." His eyes flitted momentarily to Gunn. "The both of you."

Gunn glanced at the parchment and made a face. "Man, you've **_got_** to be kidding!" he said, pointing at the odd lettering. "How am I supposed to read...**_that? What language is it anyway?"_**

"Sumerian!" Angel and Wesley said simultaneously.

"Of course," Gunn muttered, shrugging and shaking his head. "What else could it be?"

"Wesley will translate it and help you learn it," Angel assured him, and Wesley nodded in agreement.

"I can hardly wait!" Gunn grumbled. 

"Good," Angel said, ignoring Gunn's sarcasm. "When you get to Bludhaven, find the demons and kill them. Before they can possess anyone else."

"And what about you?" Gunn demanded. "What're you gonna be doing?"

"Yes, Angel," Wesley asked quietly. "You're surely not planning on sitting this one out? And what about Cordelia? Aren't we even going to try to look for her?"

"Don't worry," Angel said quietly. "I'm not sitting anything out. And don't worry about Cordelia. She's a big girl and can take care of herself." Turning, he began descending the ornate staircase leading to his quarters. "Or so she keeps telling us," he muttered. Pausing, he looked up from the lower landing.

"As for you two--!" His voice echoed eerily up the marble stairs. "Did I just mention something about you catching the first flight out?" Wesley and Gunn exchanged rueful glances.

"Well, yeah, but--?" Gunn began.

"--Then why are you still here?" Suddenly, Angel was standing between them, making both men jump. Angel's dark, brooding looks were even more menacing than usual.

"W-We're on our way!" Wesley stuttered, beating a hasty retreat--backwards!

"Yeah, man! We're outta here!" Gunn said, following close behind. Catching up to the heroic (if at times nervous) Englishman, Gunn muttered in passing, "I **_hate_** it when he does that--!" Yanking the door open, he added. "Creeps me out, man!"

"Quite!" Wesley agreed, trailing him out of the building.

As soon as his friends were gone, Angel went to Cordelia's desk and started going through the drawers. While she had taken all of her personal effects, she'd conscientiously left everything else in neat order. 

_In case we ever decide to replace her, I suppose._ Angel searched for and finally found the LA phone directory. _As if we ever could. _Quickly scanning the Yellow Pages, he quirked an eyebrow in faint surprise when he actually found a listing for the party he wanted. Shrugging, he dialed. The phone on the other end was picked up on the first ring.

A bright, perky voice spoke, "Titans West! Flamebird speaking. How may I help you?"

****

Gotham City: Clock Tower

[Friday 0630hrs EST]

****

"**_Dick_**!" Barbara cried worriedly. "Dick, come in!" She listened intently into her headset. She'd lost contact almost thirty minutes ago when a sudden infusion of white noise abruptly knocked out Dick's signal. This was a safety measure she'd built into her audio pick-up to avoid a possible overload. 

_What happened?_ she asked herself. _That loud noise! It sounded like an--_

"Explosion." Dick! He was all right!

His voice came in slightly broken, and Barbara quickly made some rapid adjustments to her instrumentation. As she worked, she let out a sigh of relief. _At least he's still alive!_ She waited for Dick to explain further, but his succinct response seemed to be all the explanation she was going to get.

"Dick?" Barbara's voice sounded tentative. "Are you all ri--?"

"I'm fine...Just a little singed--"

"--Singed? What do you--?"

"--And it's Nightwing, now." 

"Dick, what's going on?" she asked, ignoring him. At that moment, her video uplink indicated that she was receiving a video feed from Nightwing. Quickly activating it, she immediately began looking out through the Starlite lenses built into Nightwing's mask. 

"Not sure. But I intend to find out." Nightwing headed towards a set of glass doors that led into a corridor designated as 'Section 9: Special Projects Unit.' "The explosion came from there," he added, indicating the Section 9 corridor.

"Look, I need you to run a check on--"

"--Isn't that where the earlier security breach occurred?" Barbara interrupted, the tension between her shoulder blades increasing. 

"Yes it is," Nightwing replied. "But as I was saying, I need you to--"

At that moment, Barbara's monitor beeped, indicating that another call was coming in.

"Nightwing, I've got an incoming call. I'm putting you on temp hold."

"Story of my life," he muttered. Barbara made a face, but turned to the new caller. Checking her security system, she first ensured that whoever the caller was he'd only receive her 'Oracle' icon over his two-way monitor. Next she checked the call's origin.

A single raised eyebrow was the only sign of her surprise.

"This is Oracle. How may I help Titans West?"

"...?" 

Barbara smiled. Callers--especially the superhero kind--hated it when she did that.

"Um...uh...this is um, Flamebird?" the Titan's voice rose at the end as if she were asking a question. "I...um, was told that...um, you could contact Nightwing?" Flamebird's voice again rose at the end, showing her unexpected nervousness. Oracle had that effect on a lot of people. Heroes, too.

"What do you need?" Barbara asked. "Nightwing's a little busy at the moment."

"Oh, well...a friend of his asked our help in contacting him? I'm only passing a message?" Flamebird's nervous questioning tone was beginning to wear thin.

"Who's the friend?" Oracle asked, becoming impatient.

"Angel--no last name. Says Nightwing knows him, but that he needed help in contacting him--?"

"Yes. We know Angel. Did he leave a number where he could be reached?"

"Yes, he did," Flamebird said, suddenly all business. "He said he could be reached at Angel Investigations. The number is--"

"--I know the number. Thank you." Barbara cut the transmission.

****

Lost Angeles: Titans West

[Friday 0635hrs EST //Friday 0335hrs PST//]

****

Flamebird stared at the dead phone, her expression warring between surprise and peevishness.

"Well--! You're welcome, I'm sure!" Insulted, she slammed the phone down. Placing her chin in hand, she pouted prettily. _Titans West gets no respect, she grumbled.  _

****

End of Part 7


	8. Part 8

Summary: Angel paces, Nightwing fights, and Oracle interferes.

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. And once again, couldn't have done it without the helpful beta from Terri.

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Los Angeles: Angel Investigations 

[Friday 0637hrs EST //Friday 0337hrs PST//]

****

Angel nervously paced around the entrance foyer, covering every square inch quickly and often.

"Why doesn't Nightwing call?" he muttered in growing exasperation. About to begin his loop around the entranceway again, he braked to a halt at the first ring. With supernatural speed, he was instantly leaning over his desk, reaching for the phone.

"Angel Investigations."

"I understand you need to contact Nightwing." A strange, automated voice spoke coldly from the other end.

"Yes! Can you help me? It's urgent I speak with him."

"That depends. What is it you wish to--?" The mechanical voice stopped suddenly, and without explanation placed him on hold. Surprised, Angel waited with growing impatience. He checked his watch. It would be sunrise in Bludhaven shortly, which was why he couldn't catch a flight with Wesley and Gunn. 

A direct flight would take about five hours, and if they left by four a.m., West Coast time, they'd arrive in Bludhaven by noon East Coast time. Not the best of times for a vampire to arrive in a new town. He'd hoped that Nightwing might help him get to Bludhaven by less conventional means than commercial jet.

Irritated, Angel was about to hang up, when the mysterious voice came back on line.

****

Gotham City: Clock Tower

[Friday 0638hrs EST]

****

Minutes earlier, when Barbara had been in the middle of a conversation with Angel, Nightwing's emergency beacon overrode her link. Trembling inside, she promptly answered his call.

"Nightwing, this is Oracle! Come in! Dick--!"

"I'm here, Oracle," Nightwing replied, his tone showing signs of strain. "I--!" He stopped. "Hold on a sec--!"

**_~KERRRRRRRAAAASH!~ _**

Barbara jumped at the unmistakable sounds of battle. It sounded as if the roof were caving in all around Nightwing.

"Sorry, Babs..." Nightwing gasped for air. "The roof sorta caved in on me..."

"Are you okay--?"

"Yeah...for now. **_Oops_**--! Gotta go!"

"Dick, your vidlink's down! What's going **_on_** over there?"

"Not sure. Some kind of a--I'm not really sure **_what it is. Real **_ugly_** though. Fangs, horns and one big, red bug-eye. Slimy, too." He chuckled suddenly. "You'd think that if they go to all the trouble of cloning something, they'd at least make it attractive."_**

"'Clone'?" Barbara asked. "Did you say **_clone_**? Dick, are you sure?" She waited, but got no response. "Nightwing, come in!" She was met with additional sounds of battle: breaking glass, metal tearing, panicked screams, and more explosions--all punctuated by a deafening, frightening ~**_ROAR~_**! 

Babs jumped, an icy chill shooting through her. _What was **that**_? 

"Dick--?" her voice was a bare whisper. "**_Dick_**! Oh, please, God...!" Working feverishly to restore her vidlink with Nightwing, Barbara gave a cry of relief when Nightwing's voice came back online.

"Sorry, Babs...had to scoot," Nightwing's voice was short and raspy. "'Ugly' just took out a bunch of security Nazi types. They hit him with everything they had, but he just shrugged 'em all off like flies--! **_'Scuse me! Gotta move_**!" 

Barbara heard him in the background, calling out taunts over the monster's bone-chilling shrieks: "Missed me, Ugly! Boy, you're slow! What'samatter, Cyclops? Gotta speed up to come a full stop?"

An angry bellow met Dick's jeers, followed by another a terrific crash.

"Ugly **_and_** strong!" Barbara listened in frustration as Dick continued to call out ridiculous barbs at his opponent, and then froze when his tone suddenly changed. "Uh...oh..."

Unable to hold back any longer, Barbara broke in. "Dick! What is it? Tell me what's going on!"

Another crash!

"**_Dick_**!"

"Ugly just picked up a console that must've weighed a coupla tons and threw it at me like a child's toy. ::Heh:: Missed me, though. It's kinda slow...probably just a prototype."

Barbara closed her eyes at Dick's casual recitation of what must be a horrific battle raging all around him. _Typical_, she sighed. She didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him or strangle him. 

"Dick, do you need help? I could contact the JLA--!"

"No way!" Nightwing retorted. "This is **_still_** my case--and my town. I can handle it! And **_Ugly_**, too, for that matter." A sudden deathly stillness came over the air. "Oh, boy." The airwaves suddenly exploded with new violence. 

"**_Dick_**!" Barbara cried. When she received no answer, she shouted angrily, "**_Nightwing,_** report this **_instant_** or I'm calling **_Batman_** in the next--!"

"Heat vision..." Dick gasped, his tone almost that of lost little boy, one who has just realized that life isn't always fair. "Why did it have to be **_heat vision_**?" 

"Heat vision?" Barbara whispered. Then MediTech **_had cloned a creature with Kryptonian DNA. She needed to alert the Justice League A.S.A.P.! About to do so, her eye caught a red blinking light reminding her that she still had a call on hold--Angel! If she called in the JLA--which meant _****_Batman coming to the rescue of his ex-protege--Nightwing might never forgive her. Or, at least, he'd be impossible live with for a while._**

But Angel? This case already involved the vampire--or Cordelia, anyway--so Nightwing wouldn't have a legitimate objection to her bringing in Angel Investigations any further. _Okay, he might have a problem with it, but that's just too **frigging bad**!_

Making up her mind, Barbara turned back to the line where she still had Angel Investigations on hold, and spoke.

"Do you suffer from seasickness?"

****

Los Angeles: Angel Investigations 

[Friday 0645hrs EST //Friday 0345hrs PST//]

****

"What? Seasickness?" Angel stared at the phone, wondering if he'd heard correctly.

"Do you easily get disoriented or--"

"Disoriented? Well...um, no--" 

"--Nauseous in elevators?"

"No! Look, what's this all about--?"

"--Dizzy from great heights?"

"Okay! That's it! Either tell me what this is all about or--"

"Then hold on to your hat, 'cause you're in for the ride of your life!"

****

Bludhaven: the Corporate Offices of MediTech

Section 9: Special Projects Unit

[Friday 0645hrs EST]

****

Meanwhile, Nightwing was doing everything possible to avoid getting fried. He rolled, executing several consecutive handsprings in a row, and dove behind a bank of monitors. Just in time! The air around him suddenly sizzled and popped as it was superheated by the creature's heat vision. He knew it was a matter of time before his luck ran out.

Overhead, the monitors exploded outwardly in a shower of glass and sparks as the heat beams struck them. Nightwing instinctively covered his head, a deluge of glass, metal, and melting circuits raining all around him. 

_Why would these **idiots** clone a monster that they couldn't control?_ He fumed._ Didn't they have a failsafe built into the project?_

Wracking his brain, Nightwing mentally ticked off all the Superman countermeasures that Batman had taught him since he was nine: 

Kryptonite! 

_Sorry, must've left the green stuff in my other utility belt!_ he retorted. _Oh, duh! I don't have a utility belt!_

Nightwing moved at a low, stealthy crouch from behind the wreckage of monitors and still-smoldering circuitry.  A dark shadow lumbering towards him warned him in time. Dick instantly rolled left. The floor tiles where he'd just been hissed as the monster's heat beams struck them. 

_Come on, Grayson! Think! What else knocks Supes on his red shorts? _

Nightwing vaulted over a shelf holding medical instruments, leapfrogging past other laboratory equipment. Heat beams zapped instruments all around him just millimeters away from frying him into a crispy critter. 

He dove behind a long row of large, liquid-filled, Plexiglas canisters, tumbling and rolling to avoid getting hit. The monster roared in fury as his quarry escaped yet again. However, Dick barely registered the danger because his attention had suddenly been caught by the dark, bubbling liquid inside the canisters. 

A beam sizzling too close for comfort galvanized him into moving again. Shooting out a line from his left gauntlet, he rose instantly, swinging just over the canisters. As he passed overhead, his eyes widened. 

Held in cryogenic suspension within the dark liquid were embryos in various stages of development. Releasing his line, he landed on top of one of containers. Leaning over the edge, he took a closer look at the contents. 

_Ugh! _Nightwing grimaced in disgust. _Horns! They're cloning more of these things! I've gotta take them out._ Instantly readying three Batarangs, Nightwing took a diving leap and gracefully somersaulted as he descended, throwing all three Batarangs almost simultaneously.

Landing easily, he dodged as the monster threw another piece of heavy equipment at him, and then grinned in triumph as the Batarangs hit their target, exploding on impact and releasing the cryogenic container's liquid contents. 

The creature's angry roars reminded Dick that he didn't have to time to stay and celebrate, instead, he had to continue trying to come up with a method of taking down a Kryptonian. _Okay, no kryptonite for baby. So what else?_

Magic! _Supes doesn't have any defenses against that! _Dick scowled as he ran. _Brilliant, Grayson. Of course, I just don't happen to have any spells on me right now. Get serious. Come on, former Boy Wonder--**think**!!_

Lead! 

Several heat blasts came at him almost simultaneously. Leaping and spinning in midair, he gasped in pain as he spun into the edge of one of the beams. He'd been struck in the rib area. Landing in a heap, he somehow managed to regain his feet, and holding his injured side, stumbled through the door. 

What had he been thinking?

**_Lead!_**he recalled. _Lead? What good is lead? It can't hurt Superman--!_ _No, but it stops his...his what? **Think, Grayson**! Lead stops Superman's vision powers! **That's it!**--The transparent doors! They're made of some kind of lead-based titanium alloy!_

Barely able to stay upright, Dick leaned shakily against the corridor wall and started making his way to the exit. The double doors seemed a long way off. He could hear the creature's shrieks and roars as it slowly approached his location. Gritting his teeth, Dick stumbled along determinedly, hunched over in pain. 

Behind him, the enraged creature came, crashing through the narrow opening into the corridor. Roaring its displeasure, the monster slammed its fist into the walls, causing the entire corridor to reverberate, and the ceiling above him to suddenly collapse. The creature shrieked in outrage at being 'attacked' on all sides as support beams, electrical wiring and ceiling tiles suddenly rained down on him. 

Not daring to look back or slow down, Dick awkwardly released his specialized throwing disks from a hidden compartment in his gauntlet. Pressing a switch on two of the defensive weapons, he turned and threw. Not waiting to see if he'd struck his target, he turned back to continue his seemingly endless trek towards the exit.

Less than an instant later, the zapping sound of a strong electrical charge, accompanied by a nightmarish screech, filled the room. 

_Gotcha--big, bad, and slimy! _

Sneaking a peek, Dick saw the monster weaving and staggering under the high voltage from the disks, which had adhered themselves to the creature as they spent their charge. An eyeblink later, the enraged screech seemed to be closing in from behind.

Still about ten meters from the double doors, Dick again looked back. The special throwing disk's electrical charge had been spent, and now 'Ugly' was lumbering towards him, his arms flailing wildly, his fury escalating. 

Readying his two remaining disks, Dick again threw. The disks flew true, but at the last possible second, the creature's heat vision zapped them in mid-flight.

"Oh, boy."

****

End of Part 8


	9. Part 9

Summary: Nightwing, Angel, and monster--oh, my! (Oh, and Mercy, MacElvany and Lindsey, too. Remember them?)

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, all times given are Eastern Standard Time. 

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Los Angeles: Angel Investigations 

[Friday 0645hrs EST //Friday 0345hrs PST//]

****

"...you're in for the ride of your life!"

"What?" Angel stared at the phone. "What are you talking abou--?" 

Angel stopped in mid-sentence as the room around him suddenly began to fade in a beam of bright light. He tried to move, but was frozen in place, phone still in hand. 

He had a sudden sinking feeling of nausea, almost of seasickness. As the room disappeared around him, Angel's rage transformed him into his true self. Whoever had attacked him would face the vampire Angelus' wrath!

****

Gotham City: Clock Tower

[Friday 0700hrs EST]

****

_Whoever said that transporter technology was instantaneous?_ Barbara fumed. She had now held Angel in transporter stasis for the better part of fifteen minutes. She'd thought that it'd be so simple to pluck him from LA and then plunk him down in Bludhaven next to Nightwing.

"But no-ooo-ooo..." she muttered. Nightwing had to pick **_this_** moment to cut his signal. "I don't **_need_** any help," she mimicked in annoyance. "This is **_my_** case! **_And_** my town!"  

_Well, I've got half a mind to leave you to your fate, Mr. Independent!_

Barbara's fingers flew over her keyboard as these ominous thoughts further darkened her already foul mood. She was terrified. She was honest enough with herself to admit it privately. 

If she managed to re-establish her uplink with Nightwing...

If Nightwing somehow managed to survive whatever monster MediTech had created long enough for her to bring in the cavalry...

And if Angel managed to arrive in time to render any assistance...

Well, if all that happened, Barbara would just, she'd just...

_I'll just sit down and have a good **cry** is **what**. Then I'll **kill** him! For making me so **crazy** with worry!_

Barbara glanced at her mission chronometer: 0655 hrs. Twenty minutes had now elapsed since she'd dematerialized Angel. _Oh, God, please let me be on time--!_ At this moment, the familiar midnight blue light that represented Nightwing came back online.

"Dick--" she began, but was interrupted by the same fearsome, high-pitched shriek that she'd heard earlier, followed by Dick's gasping, exhausted voice.

"Oh, boy..."

Instantaneously, Barbara reactivated the JLA transporter, sending in the cavalry with all flags flying.

"**_Look out_**!" Dick's voice shouted in warning. This was met by more screams and enraged howls of pain.

****

Bludhaven: the Corporate Offices of MediTech

Penthouse Guest Quarters: Presidential Suite 

[Friday 0640hrs EST]

****

However, Barbara wasn't the only one who'd been following the raging battle. Minutes earlier...

"Mr. Loo-thor ain't gonna like this," MacElvany whined. Mercy quickly grabbed him by the collar and brought him nose to nose with her. 

"If you want to live, **_Insect_**," she hissed in a low undertone, "you will **_never_** utter that name again while we're on the 'Job.' Do you understand?" His forehead suddenly breaking out in sweat, MacElvany nodded quickly, the whites of his eyes showing his fear.

Mercy released him instantly, her disgust at having touched him apparent. For the hundredth time she wondered at her boss's state of mind when he'd made the 'insect' his personal assistant. Now Mercy was in the unenviable position of having to take orders from the squatty little vermin--while attempting to run interference whenever he said or did something stupid that could compromise their mission (which was often)--when all she dreamed of was squashing him underneath the heel of her boot.

MacElvany swallowed several times, pointing at the closed circuit TV monitor, while trying to find his voice. Finally, he blubbered, "B-But no one said nothing about no pajama-hero--"

"Didn't you bother to read the mission brief you were given? It clearly stated that--!" Mercy began.

"--That if you tried to gain a foothold in Bludhaven, you'd have to deal with Nightwing!" Another voice interrupted from behind them. MacElvany and Mercy both whipped around towards the intruder--Lindsey! Smirking, he took a step forward. "I believe that Chief Redhorne **_did_** warn you on that matter."

"What are **_you_** doing here, McDonald?" Mercy asked coldly. "How did you get in here?" 

He dangled a set of house keys and nodded at MacElvany. The smaller man immediately began uselessly searching his pockets in awkward panic. "My k-keys...! Miss M-Mercy...m-m-my keys--they're gone!"

At the mention of her name in Lindsey's presence--again!--Mercy grabbed the squatty little man by the shirt front and threw him across the room. The hapless MacElvany luckily landed on an easy chair. _Lucky for you, Insect, that Mr. Luthor holds you in such high regard. But soon..._

Looking as if he were thoroughly enjoying the little scene of domestic bliss being played out before him, Lindsey tossed the keys to her. Wordlessly, Mercy caught them. For a long moment, they stood unmoving, staring, each openly assessing the other.

Mercy didn't ask him how long he'd been there, listening, and Lindsey didn't tell her. She'd have to assume the worst, of course. Eyes narrowed, she glared at him, taking in his easy, charming smile. She didn't trust those false, disingenuous looks, anymore than she trusted his vampire girlfriend. 

In fact, she also didn't trust his shady law firm, Wolfram and Hart. She knew they had their own agenda beyond what they'd been contracted for. _Soon, I will force McDonald and the vampire to tell me what I want to know, or I'll kill them._ Remembering that McDonald might have overheard the Insect's utterance of Mr. Luthor's name, she gave a mental smile. 

_Perhaps I'll kill them both anyway_. 

"I'm here as the service representative of my firm," Lindsey said easily. "We at Wolfram and Hart have only our clients' best interests at heart. And it's my job--as the firm's representative--to ensure customer satisfaction. Remember who provided the Merodach demon for your little, uh, experiments." He smiled his charming, boyish smile, and then pointed at the monitor, becoming smug.

"Of course, if MediTech--the company **_your_** people sub-contracted--happens to be so careless as to let the demon escape...well, my firm can hardly be held responsible."

The tension in the room went up another notch as the Merodach demon's rampage inside Section 9 continued. Its strength and heat vision was proving to be almost too much for the young hero, Nightwing. Nonetheless, when Nightwing threw his Batarangs, destroying the cryogenic canisters, Lindsey quirked an eyebrow in admiration. 

Although Nightwing was desperately fighting a defensive battle, he was succeeding in holding the demon to a draw. _The Dark Knight has trained his young Squire well_, Mercy mused. It was her turn to smile. _Everything is going exactly as planned._

Her boss always chose his battlefields carefully. 

"Redhorne **_did _**say that Nightwing was not a meta-human, didn't he?" Lindsey asked doubtfully. At that moment, Nightwing was blindsided by one of the creature's heat beams.

"Nightwing is a talented fighter and athlete," Mercy replied, "but as you can see, he is no meta-human. The Merodach demon will undoubtedly make short work of him." She grabbed MacElvany by the arm. "Come. We have business to attend to."

Without a backward glance, she strode outside to the rooftop helipad, oblivious to whether MacElvany followed or not. Shrugging apologetically at Lindsey, the little 'Insect' scurried after her. He made it to the waiting helicopter just in time. The aircraft was airborne even as he struggled to shut the passenger-side door.

Lindsey watched as the helicopter rose gracefully in the air and then banked into the breaking dawn. As it disappeared in the distance, he thought about Harmony and grinned. 

"Nice to see that I'm not the only one stuck with a partner who's dead from the neck up." Feeling upbeat, Lindsey turned back to the monitor; however, as the battle raged on in Section 9, his grin slowly disappeared. The next instant, it was replaced with an ugly scowl, a mere reflection of the hatred that consumed him.

"I don't believe it..." he muttered, unconsciously grabbing his prosthetic hand. "**_Angel_**!"

****

Bludhaven: the Corporate Offices of MediTech

Section 9: Special Projects Unit

[Friday 0700hrs EST]

****

The nausea passed almost as soon as the world rematerialized around him. His unspent rage magnified by a slight feeling of disorientation, Angelus searched for something--**_anything_**--to strike. At a shouted warning--"**_Look out_**!"--Angel leaped instinctively. 

A loud crash from somewhere close by told him that the wall he'd just been standing next to collapsed. Somersaulting in midair, he landed next to a prone figure lying underneath the rubble. Nightwing? The young hero groaned. He was dazed but conscious, probably struck by part of the wall as it fell on top of him. 

Angel quickly turned in the direction of a piercingly loud screech. Lumbering towards them in a familiar clumsy gait was a--

Angel did a double take.

"A **_Merodach demon?!" he shouted in surprise. Those creatures usually inhabited dark, shadowy places, avoiding brightly lit areas whenever possible. Which is why Angel was familiar with them. Vampires and Merodachs tended to compete for the same living space. However, unlike vampires, Merodach demons weren't vulnerable to sunlight. They only shied from it._**

Giving Nightwing a hand up, Angel placed an arm around him for support. The next instant they were running towards the nearest exit--a set of glass double doors less than 30 feet away. Another shriek announced that the Merodach was getting closer.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, Angel saw that the spot they'd just vacated was a hot, burning inferno. Desperately, he urged Nightwing on. Despite his weakened state, the younger hero struggled valiantly to keep up. 

Just as they reached the doors, a white-hot heat beam struck the wall to their immediate right. Instantly, the concrete reinforced wall blackened, turned red-hot, white-hot, and then slowly began wavering as it melted into slag.

"Other side...hurry..." Nightwing mumbled. His softly spoken whisper gave his request an even greater sense of urgency. Angel immediately complied, squeezing them both through the narrow opening. "Shut...doors..." Nightwing urged.

Propping Nightwing against one of the heavy, reinforced concrete walls that ran on either side of the doors, Angel did as ordered. No sooner did he start pushing the doors shut, than the Merodach again targeted them with his heat vision. As the transparent doors slammed into each other, the monster's heat beams splayed against them, bouncing off without effect.

Angel stared in surprise, and then glanced back towards the maddened Merodach who was now less than fifteen meters away. The beast flashed his heat beams in wild abandonment, further collapsing more of the ceiling and the corridor walls all around him. 

"How come we're not fried right now?" Angel asked, thoughtfully running his finger along the glass doors.

"Lead," Nightwing explained succinctly, struggling to his feet. "The doors are made from a lead-based titanium alloy."

"Hey! What are you doing?" Angel asked, instantly at his side.

"I said the doors are made of lead," Nightwing gasped. "I didn't say Kryptonite. They'll never hold him. Come on...We've gotta get out of here."

"Why would Kryptonite affect a Merodach demon?" Angel asked confused.

"A **_what_** demon?"

"Merodach," Angel snapped. "And come to think of it...what's with the heat beams? Merodachs are touch telepaths, not--" 

Nightwing looked at him blankly. "They're **_what telepaths?" _**

"Touch telepaths," Angel repeated impatiently. "They have to touch their victims in order to be able to read their minds." 

"Oh." Nightwing shrugged. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"Did I forget the part about how they eat their victims' brains in order to get a good reading?" 

"Oh," Nightwing repeated, digesting the information. "We **_so need to get out of this place. Say...? How did _****_you get here anyway?"_**

But Angel wasn't listening. When he was certain that Nightwing could stand on his own, he'd released him and began studying the transparent doors in earnest. Now, he was standing solidly in front of the doors, his fingertips lightly touching the titanium/lead alloy. 

Eyes on the Merodach demon Angel began intoning the ancient rune, the long-lost demon-controlling spell of Braxta. Almost instantly, a strange whirling indigo light formed at his fingertips. 

"What are you doing?" Nightwing asked, nervously eyeing the ever-approaching, rampaging demon. "Did I mention getting out of here?"

However, Angel continued with his recitation, oblivious to anything else.

Soon, the swirling blue light became a bright vortex, which quickly grew to a size that threatened to swallow the doors before them. By now, Nightwing realized that Angel was magically calling forth an inter-dimensional portal. Unfortunately, the mystical gateway seemed ready to destroy their only protection from the creature's heat vision.

"Uh, Angel," Nightwing said with false calm. "Those doors are the only thing between us and that monster that can stop its heat vision. I don't think it's such a good idea to send them to another dimension at this time." He looked beyond the strange distortion that was being caused by the whirling light show. The demon's rage was increasing with each word that Angel uttered. 

"Oh, that's nice...now you've made it mad." The beast was running in its strange, shuffling gait directly towards them and the vortex, arms outstretched, roaring its frenzy. 

"No...You've made it **_madder. Than it was before, that is. Nice going."_**

Angel raised his voice above the din. As the Merodach approached the outer fringes of the vortex, Angel spread his arms wide and shouted the final words of the incantation. Waving his arms in a grandly sweeping motion, Angel literally **_threw_** the whirling vortex in the direction of the demon.

Instantly, the bright indigo light and most of the litter that lined the corridor were sucked into the whirlpool, and the entire inter-dimensional portal disappeared.

Angel and Nightwing stood stock still, stunned by the unexpected silence.

"What was that?" Nightwing asked in low, awed tones. "What did you do?" 

"Uh...um--" Angel looked nonplussed. "It's a controlling spell. I ordered the Merodach back to its own dimension." The two heroes stared, wide-eyed across the transparent doors. The Merodach demon--albeit confused and subdued, but very much still there--stared back at them. 

Nightwing shook his head.

"I don't think it worked," he said unnecessarily. 

As if Nightwing's words were a signal, the infuriated monster sprang into action, throwing itself at the transparent doors, pounding them, his shrieks going up yet another octave. 

Angel swallowed. 

"Uh-oh." 

****

End of Part 9


	10. Part 10

Summary: Mercy reveals a little more about her boss's plan; meanwhile, Cordelia has another disturbing dream.

Author's Note: I've had several requests to continue this story; therefore, I'm going to make an effort to complete it. Thanks to all who've emailed me these past few months. 

Disclaimer: Nightwing is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; Angel and company are owned by Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Constructive feedback is welcome!

Copyright December 2002

****

Nightwing/Angel: Shadow Dancing

By Syl Francis

****

Bludhaven: Rohtul's Shipping Company

Secret Underground Sub-basement

[Friday 0710hrs EST]

****

The two men in black stood motionless, their expressions hidden behind dark glasses. Neither spoke unless addressed directly, and then only in monosyllables.

_Creepy_, MacElvany shivered, suddenly cold. Come to think of it, he'd been freezing almost since the two had walked in the doors. Did they have something to do with it? He shivered almost uncontrollably. He'd never been face to face with a pair of stealth demons before. Or any sort of demons for that matter. 

_Except Miss Harmony, but she doesn't really count_, he thought_. She's really nice and pretty. Well...except when she's not,_ he amended feeling slightly confused. _I sure hope Mr. Loo-thor knows what he's doing_. 

Glancing over at Mercy, MacElvany could see that she wasn't too pleased, either. _But then, nothing ever pleases Miss Mercy._ He shivered again.

"What are your names?" Mercy asked.

"Monahan." "Murphy." They replied in unison and in identical monotones.

"Do you know **_why_** you were sent here?" Mercy asked. To her surprise, this time the two men exchanged unreadable glances, and then as one, nodded.

"Yes," said Monahan.

"Yes," echoed Murphy.

"Were you told you'd receive your instructions once you rendezvoused with your contact?"

The two again exchanged glances before replying, and then nodded.

"Yes." Monahan.

"Yes." Murphy.

"Good," Mercy answered with a smile. "Were you ordered to strictly obey my commands and no one else's--unless I specifically ordered you to do so?" She waited impatiently as they went through their Mutt and Jeff routine.

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Then the first thing I want you to do is find Lindsey McDonald and his vampire girlfriend, Harmony Kendall, and bring them here. Do you know who they are?" 

The demons again went through their tedious ritual before answering. As one they turned to her and replied, "Yes." 

"Good, because the second thing I want you to do is find Chief Redhorne and kill him. Can you do that?"

As one, Monahan and Murray answered, "Yes." 

"No, wait...bring Redhorne here, instead," Mercy amended. "Might as well have the whole gang in one place." She looked at them expectantly, waiting for their choreographed dance routine. Instead, the two demons nodded, wordlessly acknowledging the change in orders.

"Excellent," Mercy said. When they continued to just stand without moving, she added. "You have your orders. Get going."

Nodding, Monahan muttered, "Get--"

"--Going!" finished Murray, also nodding. Then, in perfect synch, they turned on their right heel and headed towards the exit.

"Wait!" MacElvany called. The two demons ignored him and walked out. The little fat man stood nervously, his arms held out, uselessly imploring. "M-Miss M-Mercy," he stuttered. "Y-You f-forgot to tell 'em to listen to **_me_**!"

"Did I?" Mercy asked dismissively. She turned to the large windows that overlooked a vast, subterranean white room. Below, figures in bulky decon-suits worked steadily over a complex network of bioengineering systems, monitoring any slight changes in the room's environment.

More importantly, they were checking for any possible changes in the life-sign readings of the multiple cryogenic containers that neatly stood in rows and columns as far as the eye could see. Touching the window before her, Mercy stood back and waited as it transformed itself into a large monitoring screen.

Each of the cryogenic containers' precious embryonic material began to flash before her. As she studied the monitors for any changes to the life-sign readings, Mercy maintained her outer cool. However, she unwillingly shuddered inside, for the grotesque, inhuman monsters that were even now being brought to term were never meant to exist. 

When one particularly vile creature appeared before them, Mercy heard MacElvany gag involuntarily. Shuddering inwardly, Mercy shut down the giant-sized monitor, showing no outward sign of her own inner disgust. Instantly, the live-sized pictures of the developing embryos were replaced by the more antiseptic white room below them.

Taking a moment to get herself under control, Mercy finally looked down at the steadily bubbling liquid, which protectively surrounded the new batch of DNA-altered Merodach demon/Kryptonian clones. Thinking how each of those monsters was in some way related to her boss's arch-nemesis, Mercy smiled in satisfaction.

Now that Nightwing had destroyed the small batch of cloned demons created at MediTech, he'd assume that he'd stopped whatever diabolical plan had been intended before it'd had a chance to be fully launched.

_Which is exactly what we want him to believe. Leave it to Mr. Luthor to plan to the smallest detail_, she thought. And as she'd said earlier, to pick his battlefields carefully. 

Metropolis had been out of the question, of course, because of the presence of his archenemy, Superman. And Gotham City had Batman--perhaps not a meta-human, but certainly a formidable enemy who'd come close to bringing Luthor to his knees. 

But Bludhaven? The place was a filthy pigsty--a breeding ground for murder and corruption, where mysterious disappearances were commonplace and the police mostly looked the other way. 

No self-respecting superhero would ever claim it as his or her city. Which made it an excellent choice for their purposes.

_And while Nightwing might have been trained by the Batman, _she mused silently, _he is no Batman._

They'd planted a couple vampire-style murders to attract the local media, and as expected, the young hero so anxious to make a name for himself--to move out of the shadow of his mentor--eagerly jumped into the fray_. _

She grinned, an ugly, merciless grin.

_So we let him 'accidentally' discover the cryogenic canisters at MediTech and destroy them! Thus, saving the world yet again. _

She thought of the Dark Knight and how he'd prevented LexCorp from buying out Gotham City following No Man's Land. Defeating Batman's young protégé--perhaps even killing him--would be a doubly sweet revenge. A mental picture of a grieving Batman holding a dead Nightwing in his arms flashed before her, bringing a warm glow of triumph.__

_So easily duped. Not even a challenge really. And all for nothing...a mere distraction to camouflage our real operation. And while the young squire battles against windmills, we are allowed to work in complete secrecy and isolation._

Smugly, Mercy walked over to a complex communications system that lined three-quarters of the viewing area. Confidently, she opened a secured satellite channel and spoke.

"Everything's going according to plan." She glanced down at the cryogenic containers, her eyes straying to the one in particular that had made MacElvany so ill. "And Mommy's almost ready to give birth to her firstborn."

****

Bludhaven: the Corporate Offices of MediTech

Section 9: Special Projects Unit

[Friday 0720hrs EST]

****

"I think now's a good time for the 'let's get out of here' routine!" Nightwing suggested. 

"Do you have any weapons?" Angel asked instead. "A Merodach's eye is his Achilles' heel. Take out the eye and you take out the demon." 

Nodding, Nightwing smiled confidently and held out his escrima sticks, twirling them expertly. He flashed Angel his patented daredevil grin and exclaimed, "He's toast, pal!"

"That's **_it_**?" Angel asked. "Those are your demon-fighting weapons?! Those chopsticks?"

"Never leave home without 'em," Nightwing replied smugly.

Angel sighed. "Great. Terrific."

"And what about you, 'Dr. Fate?'" Nightwing asked sarcastically. "What was that magic light show supposed to do? Strike fear in good ol' Cyclops over there?"

The Merodach responded with a few well-placed, corridor-shaking hammer blows to the doors. Arms crossed, Nightwing gave Angel his best Bat-glare. His voice taking an uncharacteristic falsetto, added, "Ooh...He's so scared." 

At Nightwing's words, Angel became pensive. He rubbed the back of his head in mild bewilderment. "I don't understand it," he murmured. "Braxta's controlling spell...it should've worked. I mean, I know my Sumerian's a little rusty, but I could've sworn I'd translated it correctly--?"

"Yeah, well. We don't have time to discuss it right now!" Nightwing jerked his thumb at the raving ogre, still pounding on the doors and screeching with increasing ferocity. "We gotta find a way to stop this thing."

As they searched the immediate area for any means to contain the creature Nightwing stopped suddenly, listening. It seemed as if the creature's howl had changed, going up in scale and volume. 

"That's funny," he muttered. "It sounds almost as if--?"

With a single, powerful blow, the monster brought down the double doors in a spectacular display of iridescent shards and out-of-control heat beams. All the while it screamed, its shriek a cry of--

"--**_Pain_**!" Nightwing shouted. "He's in **_pain_**!" The monster flailed and struck out blindly, its screams of agony unabated. Nightwing leaped and dodged heat beams with effort, the wound he'd received earlier throbbing painfully along the ribcage. Going airborne, he spun and threw his escrima sticks, aiming straight at the creature's sole, Cyclops eye.

Not unexpectedly, the Merodach's heat vision disintegrated both before they reached their target. Nightwing grimaced. 

"Okay, monster. Now you've done it," he muttered. "Those were my favorites."

"Favorites?" Angel gasped. He'd been lending his own considerable speed and strength to the fight and was now bent over, catching his breath. 

"My escrima sticks," Nightwing explained. "Those were my fav--Look out!" Nightwing shoved Angel out of the way just as the creature's out-of-control heat vision burned a hole in the ceiling and floor supports directly above and below them. 

As he rolled out of harm's way, Nightwing picked up a pair of glass fragments that were the approximate size of his sticks. Coming to his feet in a single, smooth motion, he tested them for balance. 

Imperfect. _Of course_. 

Eyes narrowed dangerously, Nightwing looked up at the monster, towering above him, and began circling it. The prey had now become the predator.

"You zapped my sticks. **_Nobody_** touches my sticks. Even **_Batman_** doesn't touch my sticks. Now, **_I'm_** mad." 

With that Nightwing leaped, spun in midair and kicked out, his heel connecting with the back of the creature's head. Screeching, the Merodach tried turning in its excruciatingly slow way, clumsily striking out at the smaller, more agile hero again...and again.

To no avail. 

Twirling the glass shards expertly in his hands, Nightwing counterattacked. Despite his injury, he easily evaded the demon's clumsy reach, performing an aerial ballet with a finesse that seemed to defy the laws of gravity. Striking out with the sharp fragments, the young hero was surprised that this time, his rapid attack brought more than just an angry, confused roar from the creature. This time, the demon cried out in pain.

Gracefully alighting a safe distance away, Nightwing held the substitute weapons up to the light. Moving them back and forth, he studied how they shimmered in a soft, emerald glow. 

_It **can't** be..._he thought. Suddenly excited, he called out. "**_Angel_**! The glass--! It's--!" At that moment, the creature clumsily struck out, catching Nightwing on his injured side, slamming him against the wall. Blacking out momentarily, Nightwing gasped in pain and slid to the floor, clutching his side. 

Blearily, he wondered what he'd been about to say. Looking down at the glass fragment that he still held, he groggily concentrated, trying to remember. "Angel..." He spoke barely above a murmur.

Instantly, Angel was at his side. "Nightwing, are you okay?" Examining the younger hero's injuries, Angel cringed involuntarily. How had Nightwing been able to continue his acrobatic moves, he wondered? However, he didn't have time to speculate further, because the creature's continued frenzied roars and shrieks warned him it was time to go. 

"We're getting out of here now." Angel urged Nightwing to his feet, offering support as he'd done earlier.

Struggling to remain conscious, Nightwing tried to apprise Angel of his discovery--that he knew how to stop the creature. However, try as he might, for some reason, he couldn't seem to make his mouth work. Refusing to give into the descending darkness, he finally managed to mumble, "Glass..." 

"What?" Angel paused, unsure whether Nightwing had spoken. 

"Glass..." This time he heard it, the barest whisper just audible over the monster's din. Angel looked over his shoulder. The monster was still roaring his cries and wildly flashing his heat vision. And yet, there was something terribly strange that Angel couldn't quite put his finger on...?

Suddenly, he had it. The Merodach demon--why hadn't it actually come after them?

For the first time, Angel observed that the creature was still standing in the middle of the broken shards of the glass doors, screaming in rage and pain. For the past several minutes, it had neither advanced nor retreated from that spot. 

_It's almost as if it's either too frightened or unable to move._

Another blast from the creature's heat vision reminded Angel that he was wasting time, and he again turned to go. However, a firm grip on his wrist stopped him. Nightwing was trying to speak, but Angel shouted above the din. "We've got to get out of here! There's nothing else we can do!"

Shaking his head, Nightwing held up one of the shards, and then pointed at the creature. Angel's eyes followed. The hybrid demon was still bellowing its pain and anger while standing over the same spot.

_Why is it just standing there, screaming? _Angel wondered again. __

Looking down at the Merodach's feet, Angel saw that it kept weakly kicking out at the broken glass. On further study, he saw a green tinge beginning to spread up the hybrid demon's legs. 

"What is that?" he wondered aloud. An idea suddenly taking form, he took the shard that Nightwing held out. As he stared at it, he clinically observed how the light caught the broken crystal in a strange green glow.

"Of course..." Angel whispered. "Is this what you're trying to tell me?"

Nightwing nodded, relieved. "Kryptonite..." 

The next instant, they were both knocked to their feet. Looking up, the two dark heroes saw that the demon was growing ever more insane with agony and fury. As they watched, the creature slammed his powerful fists against the walls and ceiling, melting anything that happened to be in the way of his heat vision.

Realizing that the Merodach demon was in excruciating pain, Angel felt unexpectedly sorry for the ignorant creature. 

"The doors..." Nightwing whispered. "Those were the failsafe!" He pointed at the glass shards and then at the demon's eye, his expression almost regretful. "It's the only way. We have to--"

Angel nodded.

Helping Nightwing down to a sitting position against the wall, Angel took a firm grip on the glass piece he held. Standing to his full height, he waited. The creature continued its wild bombardment of the entire corridor with its heat vision. Finally, after Angel believed that there wasn't going to be anything left of the building to condemn, the creature turned its baleful eye on him.

Without hesitation, Angel drew back and threw the sharply pointed glass fragment. Within the space of a heartbeat, the Kryptonite-laced shard flew straight and true towards the creature's eye. 

The Merodach automatically targeted it, but because of the shard's lead-base, the demon's heat beams were bent harmlessly away. The next instant, the shard was firmly imbedded in the creature's single red eye. The hybrid monster immediately began flailing wildly, its shrieks the tortured squeals of an injured animal.

Nightwing felt strangely touched by the creature's agonized cries, which were echoing up and down the hallways of MediTech. Whatever the monster was, it wasn't responsible for being here and for what had been done to it. Perhaps it was a soulless demon, a spawn of darkness whose only purpose was to destroy. But it was a living creature. And it was in pain.

Taking a deep and calming breath, Nightwing closed his eyes and quietly found his center. He blocked out the loud screeches, the pain at his side, and the darkness that called to him. Raising his gauntleted hand, he pressed a hidden switch, releasing a titanium-tipped grappler aimed at the creature's eye. 

The arrow-shaped grappler struck the exposed end of the Kryptonite shard, which jutted out of the injured eye, and instantaneously rammed it deep into the creature's brain. Thankfully putting it out of its misery.

Feeling a sense of peace wash through him, Nightwing looked up as the Merodach demon fell, its helpless cries finally stilled. Only then did he allow himself the luxury of closing his eyes.

****

Bludhaven: Location Unknown

[Friday 1000hrs EST]

****

Cordelia screams. The pain explodes in her head, threatening to overwhelm her, but she can neither stop it nor the quick-cut images that flash before her...

A large, one-eyed demon clumsily backhands Nightwing in mid-somersault, catching him unawares. The Dark Squire falls, unconscious. In a clumsy, shuffling gait, the demon walks towards the still form, grabs him by the wrist and easily picks him up. He dangles Nightwing before him like a rag doll. Roaring wildly, the creature's gaping maw exposes its sharp fangs. 

"**_No-ooo-oo_**!" The ragged cry is torn from the throat of a familiar figure in a flowing black overcoat as he runs towards the creature in a futile attempt to stop it. 

"Angel..." she whispers, shocked by his unexpected appearance.

Growling and slavering in a hungry frenzy, the monster encloses the young hero's head within its massive jaws, and with a sickening crunch, snaps them shut. Its mouth grisly reddened by its fresh kill, the crazed demon is unexpectedly transformed. Flashing Angel a wickedly gleaming, devil-may-care grin, it tosses the headless remains aside, and then turns and faces the Dark Champion.

Moving with a grace and athleticism at odds with its hunched over, brutish shape, the demon leaps, spins and kicks out, connecting against Angel's midriff, sending him flying backwards. Before Angel can recover, the demon targets him with its single eye and catches him unawares with its sizzling heat beam, igniting him in flames. Angel disappears in a cloud of dust and ashes...

"No...!" Cordelia's strangled cry registers barely above a whisper.

Her mind screams, echoing the pain in her soul, rivaling the agony of the migraine that accompanies her vision. The next instant, the monster--no, there are more than one, she realizes, and they're not monsters--are they? 

They're two men, dressed in dark suits, holding Harmony and Lindsey captive. The next instant, the two are tossed into the arena with the one-eyed demon. Cordelia barely notes that the demon is once again a hunched over brute, before the two prisoners are horribly mutilated, their screams stifled never having a chance to release them... 

Cordelia's eyes snapped open. Groaning from exhaustion and pain, she wearily closed them again.  

_I might have known...find a demon, dig deep enough, and voila--Wolfram and Hart!_

The violent visions were gone, but the beautiful Seer was left with the usual unspeakable migraine. Instinctively, Cordelia realized that these visions might be slowly killing her and that each one came at a tremendously high price. But that was a problem for another day. She had to find a way to stop the horrible carnage she'd just witnessed.

_I might've known that** Lindsey** would be behind this,_ she fumed. _Or, rather, Wolfram and Hart--just your typical demon-spawning law firm. But when did Angel become involved? Is he here in Bludhaven already?_

She smiled suddenly.

_He followed me? He was worried about me? How sweet..._

Images of Buffy and Darla appeared before her. Cordelia's smile faded as suddenly as it appeared. 

_Oh, duh! As if Angel could ever care about anyone who isn't blonde and petite. Which just proves that even dead, men are **still** idiots. He's probably just here to remind me that I'm fired and should go home. To warn me that the case is too dangerous and that I might get hurt! _

Cordelia looked around her prison, and again tested her bonds.

_Okay, so maybe it **is** a little dangerous. But it's my choice--not his. _Again, seeing Angel being burned to death, she struggled against her bonds with increased vehemence. _I have to warn him! He might be an idiot, but he's **my **idiot! I mean...he's my friend. _

****

Somewhere over the Midwest

[Friday 1030hrs EST/0930hrs CST]

****

Gunn gave the pretty flight attendant his most charming smile. Her answering twinkle gave him all the encouragement he needed. Her nametag identified her as 'Lori.'

"Hey, Lori...May I call you, 'Lori'?" Not waiting for an answer, he hurried on. "My friend and I are going to be staying in Bludhaven for a few days. I don't suppose that you and I could--?"

Lori's apologetic smile instantly dashed his hopes.

"I'm sorry. We'll only be laying over in Bludhaven for a couple of hours, then we're continuing to Metropolis. Would you care for a drink and a snack?"

"Oh." Disappointed, Gunn accepted a soft drink and small packet of roasted peanuts. As she continued down the aisle, smiling and conversing politely with the other passengers while dispensing drinks and snacks, he wistfully followed her with his eyes.

"Mmm...What's this?" 

Gunn turned to Wesley who was deeply engrossed in his copy of Braxta's spell. "What's what, Wes?"

"This can't be right..." Wesley muttered, his brow wrinkled in concentration. "It's all wrong..." 

"What's all wrong, bro?" Gunn asked patiently. He'd learned that when addressing either Angel or Wesley, it usually took three or four tries before anyone could break through whatever one or the other might be brooding over. 

Gunn grinned tolerantly as Wesley continued to mumble to himself.

"It doesn't make any sense--?" 

"Wesley, if you don't tell me what's wrong, I may have to dump this drink on your lap."

"That's nice, Gunn..."

Shaking his head, Gunn rolled his eyes and snatched the copy of Braxta's spell from Wesley's hands.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Wesley protested. "I was translating that!"

"No kidding?" Gunn retorted. "And here I thought you were giving me a headache."

"What? Gunn what are you talking about? And give that back to me. I'm not finished, yet."

"I know that, Wes, but it's the only way I could get your attention." Gunn returned the ancient parchment. "So what were you muttering about just now?"

Wesley sighed wearily, and removing his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's the spell," he said, shaking his head, shrugging in frustration. "It's useless. I could no more control a demon with it, than a stage magician can conjure up a rabbit."

"I don't get it. Angel said that Lilah--"

"Yes, I know. That she used it to control the two stealth demons that are currently on their way to Bludhaven. If they're not there already, that is. But she couldn't have. At least not with **_this_** spell."

"Could you have made a mistake?" Gunn asked. Wesley gave him a withering look in response. "Okay, okay...no offense intended," Gunn said quickly. "But it seems unlikely that Lilah would've just had a fake copy of the spell sitting on her shelf, waiting for Angel to come and grab it."

At Gunn's words, Wesley's eyes suddenly lit with an idea. "Gunn, you're a genius! Of course! How could I be so stupid? It was right before me all the time."

"What? What was right before you? What'd I say?"

"A fake copy," Wesley answered. Gunn gave him a blank look. "Don't you see?" Wesley asked, his tone implying that the answer was obvious. Chagrinned, Gunn shook his head. "It's an old transcriber trick used in order to prevent their most potent spells from being stolen."

"Come on, Wes," Gunn complained. "Can you explain it in plain English before we land?"

Grinning apologetically, Wesley tried again. "Transcriber demons are a common target for those who wish to steal their documents without bothering to properly compensate them. In order to prevent this from happening, the scribes often translate their spells incorrectly--either deleting, adding, or simply changing the text of the spell."

"You mean Lilah was cheated?" Gunn asked, mildly surprised. "Huh, never figured her to be easily duped." 

"No." Wesley shook his head. "She paid the scribe for the spell. So hers was a fair transaction."

"But, you just said the spell doesn't work," Gunn protested.

"No, Braxta's spell **_does_** work. It's the copy of the spell that's wrong." Before Gunn could protest further, Wesley continued. "While the written copy has been altered, as a legitimate buyer, Lilah was undoubtedly given the key to unlock the true spell." Holding up the rolled parchment, he added, "Braxta's spell lies encoded somewhere in the text of this copy."

"That's a good thing, right?" Gunn asked doubtfully.

His shoulders drooping, Wesley added a bit dispiritedly, "Yes, I suppose it is. Now, all I have to do is find the key."

****

Bludhaven: Location Unknown

[Friday 1030hrs EST]

****

"Hey! What's with all the noise? Some people are trying to sleep here!" Looking quite sleepy, Harmony glared crossly from the doorway. "Cordy, don't you know that no one can hear you down here? We're like...five floors straight down! You might as well just lie back and get some rest. My minion will be waking soon and--"

"I need to go to the bathroom!" Cordelia snapped. "Look, I had several cups of coffee this morning--before you brought me here--and now my bladder is ready to explode!"

"Sorry, you'll just have to hold it. Don't worry. It's only about another six hours or so--"

"Harmony Kendall! If you don't release me right now and let me go to the bathroom, I'll tell everyone about that time in the fifth grade you tried to get Warren to kiss you--!"

"Oh, you wouldn't! Cordelia, you promised you'd never tell! You swore on Jason Priestley's autographed picture and everything!" 

Cordelia winced inwardly at this reminder of their mutual pre-teen crush on the star of Beverly Hills 90210. Shrugging, she gave the flustered vampire her best smirk.

"I crossed my fingers, so my promise doesn't count."

"Oh! Oh, you--! Cordelia Chase, you are such a bi--!"

"Uh-uh-uh...!" Cordelia interrupted. "Watch your language, Harmony. Being evil doesn't mean having to lower yourself to the gutter." 

Head bowed, Harmony sat on the edge of Cordelia's bunk. "You just don't understand what it's like. Never being able to lie on the beach anymore and just soak up the sun. Or have anymore Sunday afternoon picnics in the park. Or even just being able to look in the mirror and see if something looks right on me."

Taking in Harmony's revealing leather outfit, Cordelia mentally rolled her eyes. _Harmony never **could** dress!_ Sighing, she remembered having to accompany Harmony to make sure she didn't buy some dorky outfit that made their entire clique look bad by association. But now that Harmony had to dress herself, and worse, didn't have a reflection--disaster! 

_Someone call the fashion police! _Cordelia pleaded. Harmony's outfit was a childish attempt at the dominatrix look. And her make-up...! _Puh-leese! A Walmart version of Goth_. Cordelia was almost willing to become a vampire just to make sure that Harmony didn't terrorize her victims with her horrible fashion sense.

Smiling sadly, Harmony's eyes took on a faraway look. "Remember how we used to try on each other's clothes? How we could spend hours talking about Jason Priestley and Christian Slater--?"

"Please, don't remind me! I can't even stomach the idea of having had a crush on those two!"

"Oh, I thought they were the coolest!" Harmony said, her eyes lighting at the memory. "And remember how we'd give each other manicures and try out new hairstyles...?" She looked down suddenly. "Everything's changed now. I'm a vampire. I'm evil." She turned to Cordelia. "I know I did some mean things in my life, Cordy, but I never really--" She stopped, shrugging. 

"Look, Harmony...we were both pretty obnoxious as teenagers. But that doesn't mean that we can't change. I mean look at me...I'm helping Angel fight evil. Who'd ever believe that I'd care about anything except the next Fall's fashions? But, with these visions I get now, I know that I can do some good."

"Yeah...it must be nice. To be able to help others, I mean. Me, I'm just a total loser at this evil stuff. Buffy felt so sorry for me that she didn't even bother to kill me. She figured I'd end up tripping and staking myself by accident or something." Harmony sighed. "Being evil is just so hard! I mean...I have **_think_** and do stuff like plan ahead."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Having to **_think_**! That's **_so_** unfair!" Cordelia's ironic tone escaped Harmony.

"Tell me about it! That's why I'm so happy Lindsey's helping me. I'm supposed to collect some more minions so that--" She caught herself. "But I'm not supposed to tell anyone about that."

"Oh, that's okay, Harmony. I mean, what can **_I_** do? I'm tied up here. And besides..." Cordelia smiled, crossing her fingers again. "I give you my word that I won't tell anyone."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

****

End of Part 10


End file.
